Paint my Skin with your Lips
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Draco's parents die and he has to live with Sirius. He doesn't mind,but the fact that there's a certain redheaded family running around there most of the time, makes it a bit harder on him. Definitely when Ron's hair demands his attention the entire time.
1. Blonde and Copper

**Paint my skin with your lips.**

1. Blonde and Copper

In all the places he could stay—well, there wasn't a choice, really—why the hell did he have to stay here? Draco grumbled something at the headmaster, making it as incoherent as possible. He wanted to curse and call him names, but that's just not-done. Dumbledore smiled apologetically; he understood. Of course he did. He always went on and on about how he felt sorry, and it would be okay, but it really _wouldn't_.

His parents were dead, and he was to spend the rest of his teenage-life with Sirius Black. And why? Because he was the only thing even close to family—and on the right side. That was hard to come by, these days. All his relatives were evil. His relatives were the reason his parents were not breathing anymore. So, he supposed he could do with Sirius Black.

They arrived at the doorstep ten minutes later, and Dumbledore went over the explanation—"_you're never going to be alone in there,"_ he'd said a thousand times before. "_It's the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and people will walk in and out on a regular base. Though of course; there will be times that it's just you and Sirius."_

Draco knew by now. He knew what to expect—the last time he'd been inside the building, it had been quite sombre, though he'd heard it was even worse now, since it'd been unoccupied for so many years. It had been creepy before, though _alive_. And it had always been quite... well, homey. So when the door opened he was not in the least surprised. Not by the troll foot by the door, not by the blood-red curtain dangling against the wall for no particular reason, not by the ink on the carpet that looked suspiciously much like blood. The brewing life of the building did surprise him. Lots of voices were coming from one particular room, arguing but in the way friends argue—with laughter and an easy flow.

Someone laughed in a very doggish way, and their attention was drawn to the kitchen door, that opened, making the noises all the clearer. And out came a happy Sirius Black. He was grinning, and upon sighting them his grin grew.

"Aha, finally, I was wondering when you were coming," he took Draco's trunk from his hand—it had been _hard_, trying to fit his whole life in one trunk, and he hadn't managed. More stuff was to arrive at Grimmauld place the next day. "They're waiting for you in the kitchen professor," Sirius said, and then went over to the stairs, beckoning Draco to follow. "I'll show you your room, and then we'll have diner after you've settled in."

Draco thought the man was rather friendly—sure, they were sort of related, but really, that didn't mean Sirius needed to be friendly. But he was, and it made Draco want to smile. He refrained and followed him up the stairs. As Dumbledore entered the kitchen, Remus emerged. Sirius' eyes lit up and he called: "Moony, I'm over here, come up with us, will you?"

Professor Lupin smiled and joined them upstairs. He too had the whole friendly-vibe about them. It was nice and all, but it made Draco feel like they were sorry for him, and that, he _did not_ want. So he just scowled off into the distance. He followed the two men up another set of stairs, and down a long, dark hall. Sirius murmured something about the lights always going off, and as if on cue, the candles against the walls flopped on, casting shadows on the walls.

They stopped by a heavy door and Sirius pushed it open, allowing Draco to go in first.

He said: "I know it's not really the nicest room you've ever been in, but it's definitely the nicest one in the whole entire house. And it has a pretty good view, too."

Draco scanned the room. It didn't seem all too bad. Not bad at all actually. He slowly entered, stepping onto the dark carpet. There was a wide window with green curtains—for one second Draco had forgotten that all the Black's were Slytherins, except for their last descendent. The bed was possibly huge, and ancient too, but so was everything else in the house. There was a heavy desk in the corner, and some bookcases that'd been emptied. The wood was a little scalded at some places, and Draco vaguely wondered what had happened there.

Sirius put Draco's trunk down by the end of the bed, where there was a little seat. Remus remained by the door and Draco stood a bit oddly in between them, staring out of the window. He didn't want to talk—his parents were dead. He had nothing to say.

"Now, if there's anything you want or need, please just tell us," Sirius sat, sitting down next to the trunk. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything."

Draco sighed deeply and stared at his sort-of-relative. Then he said, in a hard voice: "I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. Thank you for letting me stay here."

Sirius frowned and made a gesture for Remus to come sit next to him, which he did, with a concerned face.

"No inconvenience," professor Lupin said—and Draco immediately felt the tension between the two of them. He inwardly grinned as there hands brushed together, and Sirius gave it an almost invisible squeeze. "You should not feel like a burden. We're happy to have you here."

On the outside Draco scowled in disbelief. He wanted to yell at them. How could they be serious? Honestly, they barely knew him. Sirius' Godson hated him. His father and Sirius went to Hogwarts together, and didn't get along. He was part of the big evil family Sirius had wanted so desperately to get away from. They _couldn't_ be okay with this.

Sirius noticed the pained look and tried to communicate with Remus without using words. _How do we fix this?_

"Draco, we have no problem with you being here—we really don't," he tried to lock eyes with the boy but he was still staring out of the window. "But there is something you need to know..."

The blonde turned to the both of them, hands tucked into his pockets of the black jeans he wore. What could it possibly be?

"We..." Sirius trailed off, now definitely grabbing Remus' hand. He even put it in his own lap. Draco thought he might know what this was about. "Okay so," Sirius inhaled deeply and Remus smiled. "Remus and I are in love," deeper intake and he tensed out a bit. "And we sorta..." nothing.

"Seriously, you really don't need to tell me if you feel uncomfortable about this." Draco said, feeling embarrassed. They didn't look sure whether they should be telling him or not.

Remus' cheeks were burning up a bit, and Draco looked at his feet. Sirius struggled and decided to squeeze Remus' hand to mush.

"No, it's actually quite crucial," he said, after a long silence. "Remus lives with me, and well... the others don't know. But since you're going to stay with me too, I think it's only normal that we'd tell you."

Remus nodded, smiling, and Draco looked up at them again.

"And we'd really appreciate it, if you wouldn't tell the others." Remus said.

And although Draco was quite surprised by the revelation, he felt, for the first time, that he was part of something. Because here they were, confiding in him. And though he was broken by the loss of his parents, and wondered how he'd get through, he knew they would both try to make it as easy as possible for him.

"Thank you." He said softly, hoping they wouldn't hear, but they did.

"No problem," Sirius got up, pulling Remus with him. They walked to the door, Sirius lightly touching Draco's shoulder as they passed. "Just make yourself comfortable, and join us in the kitchen when you've unpacked."

He nodded. They both gave him a smile, and then left, leaving Draco behind in his new room.

* * *

Draco checked his appearance in the old mirror next to the wardrobe. All in all he was very happy he hadn't gotten a room where a portrait of one of the older relatives hung—they were nags, he knew. And since he was aware that Sirius' mother and his own grandfather had been friends, he was happy that there wasn't a portrait of him either. He liked his grandfather; of course he did—but not that much that he wanted to practically live in the same room with him. No. He was very happy indeed that his room was portrait-less.

He glanced into the mirror one last time, debating whether he should stay this way, or change. He was still wearing his tight black jeans, and a black shirt. _Ah, to hell with it,_ he thought, and strode out the door. He hoped most people would have left by now.

Passing through the old hallway by himself was a bit odd—it had a Hogwarts-y feeling, but scarier. Some of the frames were empty, and luckily those that were present were all sleeping. Draco recognised some of his own relatives too, and it made him even happier that they were off to dreamland already—he didn't quite feel like talking to any of them. Definitely not when they were just paintings.

By the time he'd reached the kitchen, he'd already tucked his hands in his pockets again. He approached the door cautiously, and then gave a quick knock, before he might chicken out. The voices inside stilled, and then Sirius called: "come in."

Draco pushed the door open, being greeted by a lot of people. Half of them he didn't know. He recognised the Weasleys—_all of them, YUCK?!_—Granger, professor Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks—he disliked her a lot. Potter appeared to be missing. There were some others, but they were just getting out of their seats, pushing past him with a curt nod. He remained standing, feeling a bit awkward.

"So, have you unpacked already?" Sirius asked, and pulled a chair out next to his own. "Come sit down. How is the room?"

Draco glanced around a bit—he really couldn't help it, this whole house gave him creeps. He didn't feel like the Malfoy his father had taught him to be. He just felt like a normal, scared, teenage-boy. So he sat down, trying to ignore the stares the Weasley's and Granger were giving him.

"It's great, thank you," he murmured. "You were right about the view. And thanks for not giving me a room with the dead relatives hanging on the wall."

Sirius laughed, patting him on the shoulder.

"I know what you mean, they're absolutely dreadful!" Sirius grinned—he'd been in the family most of his live, he could remember all the relatives. So could Draco, sadly enough.

"Indeed," Draco said, now smiling slightly. He'd been able to talk with his father about this a lot—they used to make fun of the ancient family, since they both detested the load of them. Lucius only went along with it because his father had made him. "And the speeches," he sighed exasperatedly. "They're endless!"

"Oh yes! Have you've ever been given the gay-speech?" Sirius asked, eyes big like saucers.

Misses Weasley, who was by the sink, turned around in surprise.

"Plenty of times," Draco laughed—apparently his father used to have a thing for guys. And everyone was afraid it'd rub off on him. "It's the worst. Seriously, I think their point is to make you afraid of gay people. I always get sick when they start about the actual sex-part. The way they make it sound you apparently chose to split your body right into two pieces."

Sirius howled with laughter—Draco's straight face made it all the funnier.

"Oh yes, I remember the time when they told me that when you had sex with someone of the same gender, you died. I told them that I'd shagged a guy once, and I was still alive. You should've seen their faces!"

"I tried that with aunt Bellatrix—she locked me up in the basement." Draco said, and now he couldn't hide a smile. There were few things Bellatrix _didn't_ lock him up in the basement for.

Sirius nodded grimly.

"She does that a lot. Last time she tried it with me I broke her noise."

"So that's where the bump in her noise is from! You're a brave man, no one dares to go against aunt Bellatrix. She's a bit fearful."

"I wanted out, she tried to chain me to the basement-wall. I had no choice." Sirius ended, and the kitchen turned quiet again.

Draco smiled a bit, and stared at the door, trying to not focus on all the people. He knew everyone was staring at him—he could feel their eyes on his back. But what on earth could he do about it?

He noticed that Misses Weasley was getting out plates, and that she'd taken her frying pan off the fire, though no one else seemed to realise it. He coughed and said: "would you like me to set the table?"

She smiled and said in a small voice: "thank you dear." He got off his chair and closed his eyes for a while—back home the house-elves always did these sorts of things. Unless his mother wasn't home—then Lucius would cook and Draco would set the table. He shook his head and took the plates, a bit too roughly, from her hands. He couldn't think about his dad. He was depressed enough as it was.

When he put a plate in front of Ron, he frowned—the redhead was staring frantically at his face. Raising an eyebrow he felt like complaining, but restrained. After all, they were letting him stay here, and his mother had just made food for all of them—including Draco—he should try and be a little nice, at the least. He put the plates down one by one, striking his fingers over the Black's crest. It wasn't much different from the Malfoy's. And he could still remember how their own crest used to feel, engraved in the fine white glass. Even the forks held the Black's crest. Made of fine silver, apparently, he studied one of the knives, and Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't they clean?" Molly asked, seeing as Draco had paused.

The blonde looked up, surprised, as if he'd forgotten all about them.

"Oh, no, no. It's..." he sighed and put the knife down. "It's clean."

"You were inspecting the silverware?" Arthur questioned—Draco thought he sounded angry. Though he probably was, reflecting his feelings of hate towards Lucius, on the blonde in front of him.

"No, I..." he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't make him sound like a sentimental bitch.

"The crest resembles theirs," Sirius said, and leaned over to study his own cutlery. "That's it, right?"

He didn't sound malicious or accusing. Just interested.

"Yeah," Draco put down the last knife. "The younger one always wore it around his neck," Draco trailed off a bit, more talking to himself as he sat down. "I just never noticed how alike it was."

Remus' eyes widened. Molly frowned in confusion—so did Arthur.

"Regulus?" Sirius questioned softly.

Draco looked up, nodding slightly, before looking down again. Soon they were all eating, an odd silence cast around them. Draco knew it was because he was present in the room, but he'd rather not think about it. He'd rather not think about anything, really. He just ate food, marvelling in how truly delicious it was. He could feel Ron glaring at him but kept his eyes fixed on his plate, slowly eating away his potatoes.

Molly looked at the pale boy in concern—he was quite slim, underfed, if you'd ask her. Her youngest son kept on glancing maliciously at the blonde, and she motioned for him to stop. The boy had been through enough, and even though the Malfoys weren't the nicest family, Weasleys don't kick people when they're down. Not even _Malfoys_.

She was concerned though. The blonde didn't speak—his parents had just died, what could he possible have to say—didn't look, made no eye-contact. Just sat and started eating his green beans. Did he even like those? Molly started on an inner frenzy and then said: "now, if you don't like green beans, Sweetheart, please don't feel forced to eat them."

Draco looked up at her, trying to smile.

"Oh, I didn't mean to make you feel like I'm not enjoying them. They're very good." He said politely—meaning it too, and ate some more to prove his point.

She smiled and starting eating herself. She still glanced at him occasionally, but he seemed _okay_ for a young boy who'd just lost his parents. Soon Remus and Arthur started a discussion about the ministry, Fred and George went on about the shop, and Ginny tried to bribe Ron into conversation with her and Hermione—apparently they'd gotten into some sort of row. Draco noticed Sirius wasn't really talkative either. Every now and then he'd agree with Remus' statements, but that was about it. Though when he saw Draco look at him, he did wink. And it made Draco believe that the man truly understood him.

* * *

It was certain: Draco was loosing it. He was actually playing chess with Ronald fucking Weasley! Oh. He must be out of his mind. Not to be crude, but him and the redhead _did not_ get along. They didn't even like each other—but they both liked chess, obviously. And Ron had listened to his mother, and had decided to be nice to the blonde. But this was not good. They weren't saying anything, and Draco could feel the two girls sending concerned glances at them—even Molly seemed to think it wasn't a good idea. Draco knew that it was only a matter of time before one of them would say something and the other would explode. Maybe that explained why they weren't saying a word.

"Knight to E5." Ron ordered, and Draco watched as the piece moved to strike his Pawn.

"Tss, you keep on destroying my pieces." Draco complained lightly, forgetting for a second who he was talking to.

"That's sorta the idea of chess." Ron said, and would Draco have looked up, he would've seen the boy grinning.

"I said I liked chess. This does not mean I'm good at it—nor does it mean that I know how it works. Last time I saw a chessboard, my mother was throwing it at my father's head. Apparently we'd run out of vases. Rook to D7?" He doubted a bit, and Ron snorted at his earlier remark.

"Your parents sure loved each other then?"

"No, they really didn't," he stared intently as his Rook moved across the board. "But they were good people, so it doesn't matter."

"Of course they were." Ron snorted again—this time obviously in disbelief, and that was it.

Draco tried his best to be polite. He sat up straight, pushing himself to his feet. He could take a lot, anything Ron could've said would have been fine, but not about his parents.

"You know what, just play by yourself, you stupid oaf. If you think I'm going to buy your crappy nice-act, just so you can insult my parents, you're wrong. I knew you were low, ginger, but insulting death people is pathetic, even for you." He walked over to the corner, and placed himself in the large chair, feeling that if he'd leave before they did, they were bound to talk about his behaviour—he didn't like being talked about when he didn't know what they were saying.

Ron stared at him in amazement, but he just pulled his knees to his chest, and stared defiantly out of the window—no, he was not about to acknowledge Ron's presence.

But when the boy left the house with his siblings two hours later—distinctly ignoring Draco—the blonde couldn't help but notice the beautiful coppery glance his hair seemed to get when he walked through a puddle of moonlight. Not that Draco mentioned this, of course. No, he bid Remus and Sirius goodnight and went up to his new room, willing himself not to think about that hair—and any parts that came attached to it.

**AN: God. I feel pathetic. Who on earth writes such crap. Me, apparently. (Deep sigh) So, review éh. So I know if I should put up 'Pale and Tanned' soon.**


	2. Pale and Tanned

2. Pale and Tanned

**AN: Yes, Grimmauld place has a garden. Or well, maybe it doesn't, but I'm pretending that it does.**

When Draco woke up he noticed something was wrong—he felt out of place. Turning he saw a window where there wasn't one before. And a desk and—_oh, right. I'm at Sirius' house. _He turned around, letting the impact of his parents' death seep through him. It hurt. He could feel it sting in his heart like shards of broken glass. It didn't feel good, because he really wanted to cry but apparently he didn't have tears left, and when he tried to scream his throat went dry.

By the time he'd finally managed to drag his sad butt out of bed, he already heard people moving around—a lot of people. He moved to the bathroom, splashing his face with water, and took his pyjama bottoms, to get some more clothing on. He'd slept in his boxers and an old t-shirt—Grimmauld place was very hot. He didn't redress with another t-shirt though—this was his father's, and he liked it. He made it a point not to look in the mirror before he left his room. He didn't feel like caring about his appearance.

Halfway down he came across Molly, who exclaimed she was just about to inform him he could have breakfast. He smiled gratefully and she continued her way up—why, he didn't know. When he entered the kitchen Sirius was there, reading a magazine, and Fred and Ginny were fighting. Hermione and Ron were talking over breakfast, Hermione making a face when he talked with his mouth full of food—their fight had been forgotten.

Sirius smiled up at him, giving him a cheerful 'good morning!' and pointing at the plate with food across the table. Draco sat down, yawning slightly.

"Now, I know that t-shirt," Sirius grinned and Draco looked up in surprise. Hermione and Ron stopped talking. "I gave that to your father for his birthday once! Last present I ever gave him—your granddad kicked my butt afterwards, it has my favourite _muggle_ band on it."

"I always wondered why my dad would have a muggle shirt—he liked it a lot." Draco smiled, and poked his eggs curiously.

"But his father didn't." Sirius sipped a bit of his coffee.

"Yeah—the whole family is rather in distaste of muggles—I wonder why though," he took a tomato on his fork. "I know it's this creepy family tradition, but where does it come from?"

He looked at Sirius as he plopped the tomato in his mouth, hoping he'd have the answer—his dad had never liked talking about this sort of thing.

"I have no clue—they just see them as filth. I think once upon a time there was a wizard that had met a bad muggle, and got to loathing all of them," Sirius frowned, sipping more coffee. "You know, we never blamed you father though."

"We?" Draco asked confused. _Who does he mean?_

"Me, and James and Remus," Sirius leaned back in his chair, and Draco tipped his head, curious. "We used to be friends, a very long time ago—he and my brother were the only ones that didn't stop talking to me after I got in Gryffindor. But in our fifth year Lucien put a stop to that."

"He never told me that," Draco said, surprised by the revelation. "But if it's true—I'm sure he's sorry about what happened, he really isn't that evil."

Draco glanced at Ronald once, very quickly, to see if he got the pun. He did, because his face reddened.

"I never said he was—people aren't just good or evil, it's more complicated than that. It all depends on how they were raised, and to which stereotype they fit best," Sirius explained. "Look at you—I'm sure that if you ask any Slytherin they'll say you're a great guy—ask any Gryffindor and they'll disagree—but that's not because they _know_ you. It's because everyone's too busy to notice that we're literally boxing our children. We tell them what to do, and what to think, and trust me, Hogwarts is a great school—but it stimulates that effect. Which is a pity, because in essence, you're all just kids, but only have different qualities. The difference between the houses isn't that one is evil and the other is good—it's just that you're different, and your main qualities vary. The really sad thing is that some people stay inside the box for the rest of their life—like the Malfoys and the Blacks. Once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin."

"Thanks for not calling me evil," Draco smiled. "But I don't mind the box that much—I like being around people that are like me. The thing is, yeah, we're not that bad—but we aren't all nice people too," Draco laughed at this. "Believe me—were two Slytherins in a life-death situation, they wouldn't save each other—they'd do everything to save their own buts. We're not brave or loyal, we don't do good for others—it's true that we can be selfish, but we live on primal instinct. The fighter survives. Now, let's see what would happen if we make that one Gryffindor and one Slytherin in a life-death situation," Sirius nodded, and Draco noticed Ron and Hermione were listening attentively. "The Gyffindor would do what he does best: he'd want to save someone's life, right?" Sirius nodded again. "That's not bad, you're good people, put others in front of yourself. But see—when that happens, the other is supposed to protest, and decide that they can both get out of the situation alive. We wouldn't," Draco said bitterly. "We'd leave the Gryffindor to die, and wouldn't even say thank you. And it's not because it's a Gryffindor—would it be just anyone, we'd do the same thing. Because we don't do _nice_. We do whatever to reach our goal. If it means the death of someone—too bad. We're that ambitious."

"That's barbaric!" Ron yelled at the blonde, and Draco looked at him coldly.

"Did I ever say it wasn't? It's just the truth."

"How can you say that—it's fucking awful that you'd just let someone die for your own good!"

"But at least I don't lie about it," Draco snapped, and Ron frowned. "Potter puts his ass on line for you every year—and then you call me awful?"

"That's different," Hermione insisted. "Harry's our friend."

She didn't even get what was wrong with that.

"So it makes it better if the person that dies for you is a _friend_? Wauw," he said sarcastically. "You really are amazing aren't you?"

"Draco," Sirius said sternly, and he looked up. "Don't. Just eat," he looked at Granger and Weasley. "Ron, behave."

"But..." Ron protested.

"No 'but's. Don't make me call your mother." Sirius said threateningly.

Ron frowned, and got up, storming out of the room. Hermione put her head in her hands, muttering darkly.

"He's gonna be in such a bad mood now."

Sirius smiled at the girl, patting her arm.

"I know—but he's got to learn to control his temper eventually." She sighed and got up too, smiling once, and then leaving after Ron.

Then he focussed on Draco.

"I know you don't like Ron very much, but really, he's not bad. People just give him a lot of crap because of his parents—maybe if you try to understand that, you could actually get along." He said hopefully.

"Oh, right," Draco stared coldly at his plate, not wanting to be mad, but he was. "You think that because people judge me by my parents, I'll sympathize with Ronald—since I know what he goes through? I'm sorry, but I don't sympathize with people that insult my death parents."

And he meant it—he'd gone through shit, and he couldn't fucking cry. He had a right to be pissed with the redhead—even though the idea of the tan skin and that copper hair was very tempting, one way or another.

"I completely understand that, and honestly, were it my son, I'd 've given him a good scolding then too, but..." Draco interrupted him.

"I appreciate it, but I don't need you to scold at him for me, no one scolds at others for me. If someone scolds, it's me," Draco said. "But I don't. I'm beyond scolding. If some choose to be as pathetic as to insult death people, it's their choice, not mine. But it doesn't mean I'm going to be friendly to him. "

"One day you'll see how alike you are." Sirius protested.

"I'm more likely to get pregnant than to see any resemblance between the two of us." At this Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Be careful what you say," he laughed. "You never know what might happen."

Draco blinked once, then shook his head, chuckling slightly. Sirius wasn't bad at all—luckily not short-tempered either. He made great conversation, and made Draco feel like it was all good. Looking down at his plate, he ate his eggs with some buttered toast. When Remus entered the kitchen he was already fully dressed, and Sirius cautiously looked around before kissing the younger man quickly on his lips.

"Good morning Love, I didn't want to wake you." Sirius said as Remus sat down, smiling at Draco brightly, before turning back to the man beside him.

"No problem, I don't have to be at work until another hour anyway," he took some toast and Sirius poured him a cup of tea. "And how are you?" He asked Draco, thanking Sirius for the tea by kissing him on his cheek. "Had a good night sleep?"

"Yes, thank you," Draco smiled—he hoped it looked _real_, because he was actually _dying_ inside—and got up, putting his plate in the sink. "But if you'll just excuse me, I think I'll go dress."

They nodded, starting a conversation and Draco left. Before he reached the stairs though, something pulled him into the hall-closet.

"What the...—" it was dark and he couldn't see shit.

The door closed briskly and something—_someone_—pushed him harshly against it.

"You're a fucking bastard!" And Draco recognised the voice.

"Fucking hell, you freaked me out there freckles," He sneered. "Are you actually hiding in the closet? How ironic."

Ron ignored his comment, pushing him harder into the wood. He was obviously pissed. Draco tried to move, but the redhead was taller than him, and easily overpowered him. He'd been taken by surprise—otherwise he would've been able to get out of this situation. He felt like a bird in a cage.

"Do you ever fucking think about what you say?" Ron hissed, and his breath tickled the blonde's pale skin. _A golden cage at that_—because this being pushed into walls by furious redheads wasn't that bad.

"Nope, never do." Draco breathed.

He couldn't see a darn thing, but he could feel that the pissed off Weasel was close. Could feel his body hovering over his own.

"Shitface." Ron scolded, and Draco swore he could feel a hand against his hip.

"Pissbreath." He replied, reaching out for the other's shirt, grasping a handful.

"Fucking ferret." The hand was definitely there, and he felt it slide under his too-big t-shirt—the tanned skin was against his own, and he felt his defences wear down.

"Yeah." He huffed, pulling the redhead closer by his shirt.

"You suck." Ron said feebly, his hand sliding up—he felt his t-shirt come up with Ronald's hand, and suddenly their bare stomachs were touching. It sent shivers all over his body—and he knew he shouldn't really. But he still said: "only if you ask nicely."

He felt their hands entwine and then cold marble against the back of it—Ron was forcing him into the wall this time. His free hand traced the shirt up against his neck, so he could freely touch at Draco's pale chest. The blonde unbuttoned Ron's shirt, and then pulled the boy closer against him—he couldn't help but extremely enjoy how their skin felt against each other—tan against pale, it made his toes curl. He wrapped an arm around the tan back, forcing him to stay there; it made the hairs on his neck rise and sent a shock up his spine. He really knew he shouldn't but—_damn this is so good._

Suddenly he could feel Ron's lips centimetres from his own and his heart started racing—he could not kiss the Weasley-boy. That was so unethical. But it seemed as if Ron wasn't letting him get out, and maybe it wasn't so bad, because maybe Draco really wanted to just...

"Ronald!" Molly called, and their movements froze. Draco thought Ron would scold at him again—anything to get out of the fact that they were touching each other in a none-violent way. Instead the redhead pushed their bodies together one more time, kissed Draco's ear, whispering: "maybe you're not all that shitfaced." And left, shirt still unbuttoned.

Draco leaned against the wall, shaken from the things that had just happened, and it was now that he noticed how heavy his breath was. He stayed there for a second, trying not to think about anything, and tried to allow the air to go back inside his lungs. It stung, he suddenly noticed, to breathe. And then he noticed he was finally crying and he slid down the wall, sitting down, hands in his hair. _What on earth have I done?_

* * *

By the time he got out of the closet, hours had already passed, and Sirius was looking for him.

"Goddammit!" He swore when he saw Draco—he felt really odd. His cheeks were a bit wet, his eyes felt puffy and he couldn't stop thinking about some Weasel's skin against his own—pulling him into a tight hug. Draco's eyes grew. "I thought we'd lost you! Didn't you hear me calling for you?"

"I... I..." Draco stuttered. Sirius had actually been worried about him. "I was in the closet."

At this the older man quirked an eyebrow. Then his look softened, and his eyes turned understanding.

"Oh, okay, I get it," he said—_he really doesn't_—and he petted Draco's back before letting go. "Next time just tell me when you need some time for yourself, I was worried sick."

The blonde nodded, smiling too.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to worry you." He said, and he actually meant it—saying 'I'm sorry' didn't come easy on him. And if was only on rare occasions—_when_ he said it—that he actually meant it.

Sirius wrapped an arm around the pale boy's shoulders, and they walked away from the hall-closet together.

"No problem—now, you should go dress. We're having dinner outside tonight—all the Weasleys are here and otherwise the kitchen would be a bit too cramped."

"You mean there's _more_ of them?" Draco said, honestly in shock.

Sirius just grinned at him, tugging him friendly towards the stairs.

* * *

Yes, there were more. _Two_ more—if you didn't count in Percy, who was still a total bastard and didn't acknowledge his family as family—to be precise. He met Bill and Charlie, who were both a lot cheerier around him than the other Weasleys—they were older too, wiser. And quite fascinating. Draco had the honour of sitting between the two men, right across Sirius who smiled at him every now and then, and hear all their stories. They'd been through a lot, one of them working in Gringots, the other working with dragons. Both very interesting people. And at least they didn't make him feel as if he should crawl into a hole, or as if they felt sorry for him. They treated him like a normal person—besides the fact that they complimented him about his appearance a lot. At first he thought he looked messed up or something and that they were being sarcastic, but then he realised they just thought he was proto-type beautiful—which wasn't all _too_ bad.

Molly had gone absolutely beyond herself to present them with a fabulous meal. And fabulous it was—Draco was sure he'd never had food this good. Not even at Hogwarts. Oh no, misses Weasley's food was a true delicacy. She told him it was because all the Weasleys were going home for the weekend—it was a sort of goodbye-dinner, even though they would only be gone for two days. Draco didn't know how he should feel about it—happy probably. _Then why aren't I?_

All in all it was a very nice evening. Sirius even allowed the teens to have some firewhiskey from his secret stash, though Molly had strictly forbidden them to drink any. They chose to disobey her—she'd never need to know. The firewhiskey, so Draco noticed, made things even more fun. Bill and Charlie were even more cheery and everyone was happy, happy, _happy_. He had a good laugh with the both of him—temporarily forgetting about all the nasty shit that had happened, and how the teenagers treated him as if he was absolutely morbid and about how _Ron's hands were..._—and he really started growing fond of the brothers. He would've never thought he'd actually like the Weasleys. But there he was, surrounded by the oldest of the family, both broad with happy faces and red hair, and he didn't mind all too much. So this was weird, but good.

When they went back inside the house, the two brothers didn't leave Draco's side. They led him into the living room, where he lazily flopped down onto the couch, and continued their stories. He smiled, being lulled off into sleep by their voices—they were miracle workers. _It's been two hours, three minutes and four seconds since I've thought about my parents or Rona..._—Charlie lifted Draco's legs, and sat down too, letting them rest in his lap as the boy turned a bit groggily.

"You really are a natural beauty, aren't you?" Charlie grinned and Bill leaned his head against the couch, half tipping against Draco's stomach.

"Mrr," he said, which wasn't even a word. "Thanks. Redheads are cute too." He said, before even realising—so maybe the firewhiskey hadn't been such a great idea, nothing to do about it now.

Bill laughed, and was about to reply, when a red furry entered the room, pissed for reasons unknown to his oldest brothers.

"Mother's looking for the both of you," Ronald sneered, ignoring his brother's eyes as they stared at him, confused about his anger. "She wants to talk to you this instant."

"Erm, 'kay," Charlie petted Draco's legs affectionately and lifted them again, and shrugged as the blonde made a face. "Hah," he petted Draco's hair too, and their eyes met for a second, unsteady grey locking with cheery brown. "Sorry, Sleeping Beauty, apparently the mother is in need of us," he walked over to his youngest brother, and saluted the drowsy boy. "'t was a pleasure meeting you."

Bill got up, poked the boy in his side and gave him a smile before going off after his brother. Draco rolled onto his stomach, groaning lightly, and moving his head a bit. Ron was still standing there, and Draco tried to ignore him—he was sober enough to remember that he tended to go a bit crazy around the redhead, so he needed to try and control himself this time.

It was hard for Draco to ignore him when he was tapping his foot fiercely and glaring daggers at him.

"So," Ron started, obviously about to explode. "I suppose you're going to fool around with my entire family? Should we introduce you to the nephews, so you can have a go at them too?"

"Wha—what are you talking about?" Draco frowned—his head hurt when he did that—and his mouth opened a bit. He was in no condition to have a conversation right now, the booze was seriously getting the best of him.

"Oh please, like they weren't flirting with you!" Ron spat, and Draco wondered why he even cared about that—what if they were flirting? What was it to Ron? It wasn't like Ron actually _liked_ him. "And like you weren't flirting back! 'Redheads are cute too'!" He mimicked Draco's voice and made it squealy and flirty—which Draco really thought wasn't fair. Why was Ron doing this?—it wasn't like Draco had meant to say it. And it wasn't even about _all_ redheads. It just so happened that he'd been talking about...

"You, you bastard," Draco grunted, and tiredly threw a pillow at Ron, who easily ducked to avoid it. "With 'redheads' I meant you! So don't bloody act like you care!" He turned around, cuddling himself, wanting to sleep. "Because I know that you don't and I just wanna sleep now, so fuck off. Don't pretend like you have the right to be jealous, sick fuck."

Ron's mouth opened. And closed. And opened. Well, it was safe to say that he pulled off a good impression of a fish. He feebly murmured something like: "I _wasn't_ jealous!" and left the room.

Draco fell asleep soon, tears in his eyes again—_what's up with me today? I'm such a crybaby_—but he did have good dreams that night—dreaming about his pale skin against a certain someone's tanned flesh.

**AN****1: I apologise for Sirius' speech ('It's because everyone's too busy to notice that we're literally boxing our children. We tell them what to do, and what to think, and trust me, Hogwarts is a great school—but it stimulates that effect. Which is a pity, because in essence, you're all just kids, but only have different qualities. The difference between the houses isn't that one is evil and the other is good—it's just that you're different, and your main qualities vary.') And believe me, no one's a bigger Hogwarts fan than I am, but I do believe Hogwarts has a box-effect. I really do. And that's why I made Sirius say that. But the thing is... I also agree with Draco on that—I always doubt about it, that's why I put the conversation in.**

**AN2: well, hope you liked :) Review, and I'll put up 'Fire and Ice' soon :D**


	3. Fire and Ice

Fire and Ice

When he woke up his head was pounding, literally hammering its way through his skull, he was sure. His leg lay in an odd angle, and there was a blanket draped across his torso—_now where did that come from?_ Upon opening his eyes he thought he might know who gave him the blanket.

Sirius was sitting there, and held out a bottle with white pills, and a glass of water.

"I know I should make you a potion," he said quietly, compassionate with Draco's head-ache. "But aspirin will work just as well."

The blonde sat up a bit and murmured: "'m sorry. 'didn't mean to fall asleep on the couch."

"No problem—you were in safe hands anyways, Bill and Charlie wouldn't let you do anything stupid," Sirius smiled and yawned once. "So, you _do like_ the two oldest Weasleys, heh?"

"They're nice," Draco agreed—as he swallowed the aspirin he slowly started to remember the incidents with Ron. First the pushing and the tugging and the touching and then the—_Oh Merlin!_ _I told him I thought he was cute_! "Shit!" He swore aloud, and Sirius frowned.

"Shit?" He asked politely and Draco dropped back on the couch, slapping a hand on his head.

"I said something incredibly stupid to the redheaded bastard—Goddamit!"

Sirius got up, stretched and patted his arm in comfort.

"Language Draco," _he sounds a lot like my dad when he says that_. "And don't worry about it—the guy says stupid things all the time, you shouldn't feel bad about it," Draco groaned. "I'll go make breakfast. Or, well, attempt to make breakfast."

And he left the room. Draco groaned again, and then realised Sirius had said 'attempt to'. _Maybe I'd better go check—mister Lupin wouldn't be too pleased if Sirius happened to burn down the house._

* * *

Upon entering the kitchen, Draco saw that he wasn't a minute too early—Sirius was helplessly putting out the mini-fire he'd created with a _towel_. What was he—_some muggle_? He flicked his wand and Sirius' eyes grew wide.

"Wauw, the towel-thing actually works!" He sighed, and Draco started laughing.

Sirius turned around in shock, and when he realised Draco was in the kitchen too, he understood that the towel-thing _hadn't_ worked at all. He hung his head sadly, and Draco continued snickering.

"You know," he said, grinning—_a wonderful thing about Sirius is that he always makes me forget my worries_. "A wand is a magical thing—you should use it every now and then."

He guided the stunned man to the table pushing him down. Then he turned to the counter—_what was he trying to do, anyways_? Judging by the eggshells Draco would say he'd tried to make eggs. Which was kind of silly, since it would mean Sirius couldn't even fix that—but it was obvious that he had indeed tried, and miserable failed.

Draco grinned at the thought of Sirius being such a lousy cook—he was sure Remus made up for his lack of talent—and grabbed new eggs. Since mister Lupin appeared to be at work, it would suffice to make breakfast for just the both of them.

"Draco," Sirius' voice called towards him as he set about breaking the eggs. "If I tell you something about your father, will you promise not to get mad?"

Draco frowned, and looked at the man for a second, then returned his attention to the frying pan. _Do I want to know?_ What could Sirius possibly have to say about his father, that Draco didn't already know?

"I promise." He eventually said, scowling at the pan—_maybe I don't want to know... or maybe I do and I'm just..._—Sirius coughed, and spoke.

"He wasn't in love with your mother."

Draco laughed—but it wasn't _right_, because the laugh was cold and heartless. Not right at all.

"I know this," Draco said bitterly. "My father wasn't into mother-figures, period. More into father-people. More into blokes—don't think he never told me."

Sirius didn't say anything else. He watched Draco scoop the eggs into plates and hand him breakfast. The boy sat down as if everything was just fine—_but it's not_—and Sirius felt guilty. He shouldn't have brought it up. Why couldn't he just keep his big mouth shut?

Draco ate his eggs in silence, and Sirius looked at him in concern—he wasn't bad, nice to talk to, easy flow. If you got beyond the Slytherin exterior, Sirius was sure he was a real nice lad. Looked talkative and fun to be around—just like his dad, when he was still free-of-spirit and a rebel. Sirius didn't want to mess this up. Dumbledore had trusted him to make Draco feel better, and more at ease, and to take care of the young blonde. It wouldn't do to just mess that up.

"So," Sirius said between two mouth-full's of breakfast. "What do you think's enjoyable? You know, besides drinking with the oldest Weasley-brothers."

Draco looked up at him, completely void of feeling. Then his lips twirled up in a little smile.

"I suppose... chess?"

"Oh my God!" Sirius squealed happily—he hadn't been present when Draco had played chess with Ron. "You're such a Moony-ish person!" Draco frowned, but by Sirius' wide grin it was obviously a compliment—even though he had no idea what this 'Moony' thing was. "We used to play chess all the time—never finished it though, since I always ended up snogging him when I realised I was loosing," his eyes twinkled mischievously and the boy laughed—by the sound of it Moony equalled mister Lupin. "I don't even know how it works, but whatever."

"Me neither," Draco admitted, poking his eggs before he plopped a piece in his mouth. "It's just fun—though a bit brutal."

"Hah, we always played muggle-chess," Sirius took a sip of coffee. "No decapitating Rooks and stuff—it kinda put me off when a piece got stuck in my eye. Never played wizard-chess ever since. Actually, Ron pesters me with that sometimes—great chess-fanatic, that boy," Draco's eyebrow rose curiously. "When he found out he chased me around the house with his chessboard once—God, the boy can be a menace!"

At this, Draco couldn't help but laugh again—he hiccupped rather helplessly as he'd been about to swallow his fruit-juice. Sirius' look was somewhat distant, and Draco could tell he was dreaming.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and Sirius blinked two times, before shaking out of it.

"I'll get that." He said, and got up, extending the kitchen.

Draco enjoyed the rest of his eggs, and was just about to start cleaning Sirius' earlier mess when he heard angry voices from the hallway.

"He's being even more troublesome now!" A shrill woman's voice yelled—it sounded familiar.

"I'm not troublesome!" And Draco accidentally dropped his plate, because he _knew_ that voice. But... it couldn't be—_they're off for the weekend! Need to clean their house and stuff!_—and then...

"Yes you are! He's in the way the entire time, and I'm really not in the mood for this!"

"But mom..." _Yes_. That was definitely Ronald's voice. Draco swallowed hard—_please not Ron, not now, he can't be here. Please, please, please, not Ron!_

"No problem Molly—if the boy doesn't feel like cleaning, he can stay here—whether he comes two days earlier than the rest of you, it's really not such a big deal," he heard more conversation, and angry grunting, and then Sirius' voice got closer, saying: "now what exactly did you do to displease your mother like this?"

"I didn't do anything!" Ronald replied hotly, and they entered the kitchen. "I was just minding my own business when she said I was in the way and sent me off!"

Sirius petted Ron's shoulder sympathetically and glanced over at Draco, who still stood dumbstruck—halfway between the table and the sink. The plate lay broken on the floor.

"Draco?" Sirius asked, frowning slightly. Draco's eyes focussed on him. "What happened?"

"I—" he nervously fidgeted about, dropping to the floor and collecting the shards. "I dropped the plate by accident."

"Oh, okay," Sirius flopped down on his chair. "No problem, just leave it be—I'll get it later, sit back down," then he eyes went to the redhead again, who sent an odd glance Draco's way. "We were just discussing your amazing chess-abilities—now I was thinking: would you care to explain us how it actually works?"

"Chess?" Ron asked, and his eyes got a bit red as Draco took his place opposite from the boy.

Sirius merely nodded.

* * *

Draco was absolutely exhausted. He got that now—he was tired and he needed rest. He needed to sleep and cry his eyes out and sleep again. He didn't know why, but the pain in his chest was blazing again. And not even Sirius' chipper voice could shake him out of it. He watched in silence as the redhead explained the game to Sirius, knowing he should be listening too—but all he did was swallow the lump in his throat and bring his hands to his lap. They were shaking and he felt really awkward. Like he needed to just—_he_ didn't even _know_.

"Malfoy?" Weasley's voice brought him back to reality, and he tried to focus on him. "Are you even listening to a word I'm saying?" He asked angrily, short fuse already burning up—Draco stayed stoic, he wasn't like Ron, he didn't get angry.

But only this time he was feeling very strange, so he didn't manage to reply back with a usual glare—only make a weird noise in the back of his throat, and get to his feet. _Great_—it didn't help, he shook even more. He vaguely noted that Sirius was looking at him curiously, and outstretching a hand. But he shook his head, and ran out of the room in distress.

His whole body was quivering as he dropped down onto his bed—_what's gotten into me?_—because he didn't know, and it wasn't supposed to hurt _this much_. Or was it? What was he supposed to feel? And due to the fact that he was still wearing the same shirt he'd slept in, now he also felt dirty. Pulling it off over his head he rolled himself up against his pillow. He didn't know why but the shock of realising that his parents weren't here when they should be hit him hard again, and it was pissing him off—_no_, it was breaking him. Like ice breaking into a thousand pieces. But unlike the plate he'd broken earlier, he wasn't sure if he could be mended. Because damn—_this hurts_.

It wasn't until he heard the door open that Draco managed to _breathe_ again—his eyes felt a bit puffy, but he hadn't cried. Not one tear—still it felt as if he had.

"Malfoy?" Draco inwardly growled—not the Weasel.

But Ronald pushed himself into the room, closing the door behind him. It wasn't dark inside, but not exactly light either—the curtains were half drawn shut, and there was no light burning. As soon as the redhead made his way over to the bed, Draco put on his mask again, ridding his face of any emotion that might render him vulnerable.

"Are you okay?"

"Fantastic." Draco sneered, and he just knew Ron was getting mad again.

"I'm just trying to be nice, dammit!" He swore, bad tempered as always. He sat down on Draco's bed and the blonde glared, rolling away from him. "Why will you never let people help you?"

"I don't need your help. I'm fine." Draco growled, and buried his face deeper in his pillow.

"Liar," Ron arched his eyebrows. "Why don't you just tell me what's wrong—let me _help_."

Draco couldn't believe the guy's guts. It's not because they have one little escapade—_we didn't even kiss!_—in some hall-closet that he was now suddenly a friend. He wasn't entitled to demanding how Draco felt, that wasn't his place. He was treading on thin ice here—but Ron decided to stay oblivious to Draco's inner conflict, and outstretched a hand, lightly touching the blonde's bare side. Draco felt little tingles of fire scorching all through his body, starting from the place the redhead's fingers touched him.

"Don't touch me!" Draco turned around abruptly, startling Ron, who pulled back his hand immediately. "What gives you the right to just come here and touch me like you know me! Like you know what I feel!"

"I only want to make you feel better!" Ron protested, ears getting red. He crawled closer to Draco, and the blonde tried to move away, but couldn't—unless he wanted to land on the floor. "Don't be such an asshole! I'm doing the best I can!"

"I don't like you." Draco said, trying to sound it indifferent—but it was a bit huffy, since Ron was so close to him again.

Ron growled, and lay down next to him—before Draco could even tell him to fuck off, he'd hooked his fingers in Draco's belt-loops, and pulled the smaller boy close to his own boy, engulfing him in a hug. Draco spluttered—_but why aren't I pushing him away_?

"You said you thought I was cute, you stuck up bastard," Ron muttered angrily in the other's hair. "Your parents aren't breathing anymore—how you manage to come out of your room is beyond me."

And this time when Draco started crying, it was okay because he was crying for the right reasons. He'd lost his parents and it wasn't as if that was such a nice experience. He needed to get it in his head and never forget it—hoping his father would just walk through the door and kiss the top of his head wouldn't do. They weren't coming back and that was it.

The fact that Weasel was holding his shaking body, and cooing sweet nothings in his ear _should have_ upset him—but he felt too much at once, and couldn't protest, because part of his brain thought that _this isn't so bad_.

When he finally stopped crying his eyes were puffy for real this time—_I must look like fucking shit_—and he realised he was holding on to Ron's maroon jumper.

"Fuck freckles," he grunted, pulling back a little—_this is really too close for comfort_. He didn't even like the boy for Merlin sakes! "You really bring out the best in people, don't you?" The familiar Malfoy-sarcasm ringed through his voice, but to his surprise Ron only chuckled, arms still wrapped around Draco's slender form.

"It's not that bad." Ron studied the blonde's wet face, grinning goofily.

Draco frowned.

"Don't get soft on me—we don't like each other, remember?" the blonde scowled as the redhead caressed his hip.

"You're right—we don't." Ron agreed.

"You should probably stop touching me." Draco offered—_but do I want that?_

"I should."

But he didn't. Instead he stayed right there—until the blonde was too tired to complain about his presence and fell asleep. He pulled off his own sweater and put it on Malfoy—he was shivering slightly, and it wasn't from heartache—when he left the room he frowned to himself. Because dammit, they weren't even friends. Quite the contrary. But there was something about seeing that boy that made his insides burn with a certain... _appeal_?

* * *

Draco shuffled out of his room—he didn't feel puffy anymore, he'd combed his hair, and he was ready to face the world with his usual sneer again. It wasn't until he entered the kitchen in need of some tea that he realised that 'the world' consisted out of a bit more people than he'd expected.

_Why are all the Weasley's back so soon_? And couldn't they have dumped Granger? And... wait—_why are they all looking at me like that_. Molly's mouth dropped and Ginny's eyes were wide. All the others had very confused looks about them. Sirius looked as if he was restraining to grin. All in all they were making him feel as if he was an alien.

Draco frowned putting his hands in his sides. They were nice and warm and—_huh? _Looking down he noticed he was wearing something that had a maroon colour. And a letter on it in...—

"Nope, sorry mum," Ron entered the kitchen, and everyone glanced at him for a second—he was only in his white shirt and worn-out jeans. "I can't find my maroon sweate...—oh _fuck_."

"Oh come on!" Draco turned, glaring at Ron, and the boy's ears got red. The blonde couldn't believe him—he'd actually given him his sweater! _What a cliché_! "You're just fucking incredible, aren't you! I can't believe—what the hell do you think I am!" Everyone looked rather confused, but all Ron did was stare at his feet. "A damsel in distress?" Draco huffed and tapped his foot.

It was Ron's time to glare.

"Well than maybe you should stop acting like one!" he snarled—but his ears still indicated the shame he felt.

"I do not act like a lady!" Draco protested—he didn't notice that the foot-tapping gave him a rather feminine look. "And maybe you should just stop stalking me!"

"I don't stalk you!" Ron growled. "And fuck you! If it's that bad, just give me my fucking sweater back!"

Draco tilted his head, and he sneered: "well actually, freckles, for that behaviour I'll let you know I'm confiscating it until you learn some manners!"

He couldn't help sticking out his tongue childishly and running from the room. _Stupid Weasel_._ With his stupid oh-so-nice-and-cudly jumper._

Ron spluttered and Sirius laughed—everyone else was too shocked.

"Malfoy!" He yelled, running after the boy. "Give it back to me!"

"No!" They heard the fighting boys run up the stairs and Molly stared at Sirius—she knew she shouldn't have left Ron alone with him.

Upstairs Ron caught up with Draco, who didn't stop walking, but said in disbelieve: "you gave me your bloody sweater!"

Ronald pushed him into the wall, hissing angrily: "well fuck you, I was being nice!"

"Don't be!" Draco's eyes wandered down to Ron's chest—they were so close again, they really had to stop doing this.

"Fine, I won't be!" Ron said, and they pushed against one-an-other.

His body was like fire—unfreezing the ice of Draco's heart. But it didn't quite cut edge. Because then Ron shook his head, seeing this had no use, and left him, alone and confused once more.

* * *

Draco _did_ take off the jumper. He didn't give it back though, but hid it under his pillow instead. And by the time that he went down, it was already dark and he realised the Weasley's were gone once more—taking their youngest son with him. Sirius didn't ask—Draco didn't feel like explaining.

But he felt cold—and somehow he thought Ron would've been able to warm him. No matter how illicit that thought was.

* * *

**AN: Wauw. Okay... I have nothing that could possibly explain this... I'll make the other one... better?**


	4. Teeth and Tongue

Teeth and Tongue.

"I'm bored." Sirius stated, and Draco looked up from his book.

The raven-head was lying on the couch, outstretched. Draco felt somewhat sorry for him—life _must_ be boring, since he wasn't allowed to go out too much. He sighed and put his book down, marking his place with a piece of paper.

"Fine," he said coldly. "What do you want to do?"

"You could take me out for a walk," Sirius cheered, eyes lighting up. Draco arched his eyebrows—_take him out for a walk?_—and the man sat up. "Just give me a minute."

And then he ran from the room. Draco got up, putting his book on the coffee-table. Suddenly a big black dog came into the living, bouncing about happily, chasing his tail—Draco freaked.

"SIRIUS!" He yelled, and the dog's ears perked up. "There's a dog! How did it get in!"

The dog started barking, and Draco backed up a bit. _How did it_—and suddenly it changed into a Sirius Black, howling with laughter. The blonde's eyes widened. He was even wearing a black dog-collar.

"You...—you're an animagus?" He asked in surprise.

"Yep—so was James, to help Moony during the full moons," the man laughed again. "I just needed to get my collar."

Draco scowled, then a smile tugged on his lips, and while tapping his foot impatiently, he murmured: "how kinky of you."

Sirius started laughing again, and then he was a black dog, barking and trotting over to Draco. He nuzzled his leg with his nose, motioning him to the door, and Draco sighed—_no wonder he's got such doggish manners_.

They walked out the front door, Draco quickly putting on his jacket before they left, and went out into the sunny street—it was almost evening, and although it was warm, there was a nasty wind. Sirius walked a bit ahead, chasing his own tail every now and than, making Draco laugh—it was funny imagining a grown man doing that, but Sirius seemed to enjoy it very much. They walked to a nearby park, Sirius playing with some of the other dogs, as Draco flopped down into the grass. It actually felt like a relief to see the man so happy—Draco was sure Azkaban must have been hell, and he could see it had worn Sirius down more than he wanted to admit. To see that he still possessed some of the free-of-spirit attitude like he used to, was nice. Draco used to know Regulus, and he could be just like Sirius. Sometimes serious and bitter, and as if he'd been through terrible things—which both of them had—and on other times so happy and cheery, that the whole world just lit up. Draco admired that, because everyone had their special person to make them happy—Sirius and Regulus could just do that to the whole world, not only to their special person.

_But this is a drag_—because with the thinking about special persons, Draco suddenly started thinking about Ron—_and that's not good_. It's not that Draco likes him—or well, he thinks he doesn't. _Well, no, I don't_! But he can't deny that maybe Ronald's not all that bad. He _is_ the only one Draco's ever touched—_the only one that's ever touched me_—in that way. Which should mean there's something about him—otherwise Draco wouldn't have let him. He doesn't want to brag, but he can protect himself. So if he wouldn't have even remotely _wanted_ it, he would've pushed him away. But he hadn't. So this had to mean _something_. But don't ask him to define 'something', because that's just over top.

Draco couldn't quite put his finger on it—he didn't like people! He'd never been in love before, never really felt any affection to his friends—_and I'm definitely not in love with that freckled redhead, nor is he my friend_!

He gave another sigh and Sirius trotted towards him, lying down and putting his head affectionately in Draco's lap. Draco scowled.

"I don't like dogs," he said, looking down at the black furred beast. He perked his ears, tipping his head to the side—Sirius was a cute dog, that had to be admitted. "And the puppy-dog eyes won't work on me."

Sirius sniffed once, sneezing, and then put his head back in Draco's lap, ignoring the boy's comment. The blonde sighed and absentmindedly petted his black hair, stroking behind his ears. They sat in silence for a little while longer, Sirius' hot doggy breath warming Draco—he was slightly panting from playing around. After a short half hour, when it was getting dark and the streetlights illuminated the park, Sirius got up, and changed again. He grinned, dog-collar still in place. Draco shook his head lightly, and said: "you're a very weird person mister Black." Getting to his feet and dusting off his clothes.

"You're a very happy person mister Malfoy—don't think you've got me fooled!" Sirius laughed getting up too, and they walked home.

Sirius laid a comfortable arm around Draco, and the blonde stared up at the man—he was looking around cautiously. The closer they came to the house, the more suspiciously Sirius looked—it was obvious to Draco that he didn't trust the neighbourhood at night. There was a man under one of the streetlights, staring at them and Draco scooted a bit closer. It was already dark, and Sirius' behaviour was scaring him slightly—he made Draco feel as if there was something to be afraid of.

Sirius guided the young boy past the man, and up the stairs to the house. He opened the door, and they entered the dark hallway—the red curtain shifted a bit, indicating that Cygnus had been disturbed. The front door closed with a click, and as Draco took off his coat, Remus appeared from the kitchen, smiling brightly.

"Ah, there you are," he was holding a towel, drying his hands. "I was wondering where you guys went."

"Draco was so kind as to take me out for a walk," Sirius grinned, walking over to professor Lupin. Draco watched as he pulled the other man closer by his hips and whispered: "I missed you." And he lowered his head to give him a kiss, but Remus put his finger to Sirius' lips.

"I'm not kissing you," he said sternly. "Who knows what you chewed on?"

Draco laughed and Sirius grumbled in protest, putting his lips to Remus' neck instead as he muttered: "you're such a tease." Then he nuzzled the younger man's neck, and went into the kitchen.

Remus smiled at Draco, gesturing for him to follow.

"Did you have fun?" He asked and Draco nodded slightly, saying: "yes, he's a really nice dog."

The brunette laughed and they went into the kitchen after Sirius, where the table had already been set. Sirius was putting some pots on the table—apparently Remus had already done all the cooking.

He flopped down opposite of Sirius, while Remus scooped food on their plates—chicken with potatoes. Draco poked it—but only out of habit—and carefully ate a piece of chicken.

"Mmm, Moony, 's really good." Sirius lovingly nuzzled Remus again and continued eating.

Draco nodded in agreement and professor Lupin smiled slightly. No one talked until Remus suddenly asked: "say, I noticed one of the towels was all black—half the thing burned away," Sirius swallowed his food innocently. "What happened?"

"Well, see," Sirius began, and Draco looked at him. "I was just lighting a cigarette, and Draco thought I was in danger and decided to save me with the towel. He's quite heroic."

Draco's mouth dropped in disbelief, and he gaped.

"I did not!" He insisted. "You tried to burn down the house, and didn't think about using your wand!"

"Well—so part of it was true. You're heroic." Sirius said seriously and Draco rolled his eyes, laughing besides himself.

Remus shook his head, obviously used to this kind of behaviour—and then the raven-head suddenly pulled his chin closer. Remus' eyes widened in shock when the other man connected their lips, and tried desperately to push him off. Draco knew it was rude to stare, but he couldn't help it. Soon Remus closed his eyes, and Sirius nearly dragged the man onto his own lap—_apparently the doggy-breath isn't that bad after all._

When they parted, Sirius continued eating as if nothing had happened, but professor Lupin had a pink tinge on his cheeks.

* * *

The next morning Draco was the first one up, and he'd just made tea, leaning against the counter, when a big black dog tripled in. Draco looked down at him, dropped through his knees and fed him some bacon, asking: "what's up with you?"

"He's being childish," Remus' voice called from by the door, and grey eyes settled on him. "We had an argument and now he won't talk to me."

The dog made a whining sound, going over to Remus and rubbing his head against Remus' trousers. Draco sat down again, smiling slightly as Remus sternly said: "no, Padfoot, my mind's made up."

Sirius circled Remus' legs looking up at the man with begging eyes, and Draco wondered what their argument had been about. Remus ignored him, took tea and sat down too. Sirius lay down next to his chair, and suddenly his voice said: "but Moony, I want to help," and he appeared, sitting down next to Remus, hand on his thigh. Remus frowned, and Draco stared curiously at them. "If Draco says he doesn't mind, will you be okay with it then?"

"That's not fair Sirius!" Remus protested. "You shouldn't trouble him with it!" He lightly indicated the blonde. _What the hell?_

"But he's the reason you don't want me to come!" Sirius focussed on Draco and asked, before Remus could prevent it: "Draco, if I would leave you one night alone with the Weasley's, would you mind?"

"No," Draco said blankly, and then couldn't help but continue: "do you mind telling me why?"

Remus sighed deeply and leaned his head against Sirius' chest. Sirius instantly wrapped his arms around him.

"I told you we became animagi to be with Moony during the full moon—well, it's close, but he doesn't want me to come because he's afraid you'd feel left alone."

"It's only natural," professor Lupin replied, looking at Draco. "I know you don't get along with the Weasleys very well, and it's Sirius' job to look after you anyways."

"But I don't mind," Draco said—okay, he would be bored. He wouldn't enjoy himself, it would probably be bad. And he really wanted to tell them he wanted Sirius to stay, but he didn't want to be selfish. They'd been so kind to him—they'd entertained him, were nice, made him feel like he belonged somewhere. And he could only imagine how hard full moons must be for Remus: it was only normal Sirius would want to be there for him—so why would Draco deny them that? "You should definitely come with professor Lupin, please, don't let me stop you—I'd only feel bad about it."

Remus smiled slightly, murmuring that Draco should stop calling him 'professor Lupin', and Sirius mouthed a 'thank you'. Then they had breakfast and light conversation—and Draco felt okay, because it felt alright to be happy, and he didn't need to sneer at them, because they were good. They were _good_.

* * *

"Hey, you know, I was just thinking about something," Sirius entered the living room, startling Draco, who was once more indulged in a thick potions-book. "We could re-decorate your room the old-fashion, muggle way."

"Re-decorate my room?" Draco frowned slightly.

"Well, I thought you might like that—it used to be one of the guestrooms, everything's so black. We could re-paint the walls."

"Merlin," the blonde mocked as he got up. "You really are bored, aren't you?"

"Just wanna make you feel at home," Sirius explained, and they went up the stairs. "But we don't have to—maybe just hang stuff on the walls. Aren't there any posters or something with the boxes from your house?"

"I'm not a posters-person." Draco explained.

"Ah, me neither." Sirius smiled slightly, and Draco frowned—_I've seen things on his wall though._

"Oh? I thought you had loads of things hanging on your walls."

"But it's not posters," they got to the first floor landing, and Sirius gestured him to follow, even though Draco's room was on the second floor. "Come see."

He pushed his bedroom door open, and allowed Draco to go in first. The bed was unmade, and there were some clothes on the floor—Remus' shoes were neatly put next to the bed, Sirius' trousers hung from a chair. But he was more focused on the wall—the wall behind the bed was covered with pictures, but there were no posters. He came a bit closer—it were all pictures of when Sirius was younger, only two or three from his time after Azkaban. There were two constants, Sirius and Remus. Sometimes they were accompanied by James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. Every now and then he recognised Regulus, but the most pictures were of the couple.

There was one where Sirius and Remus were sleeping, all cuddled up, and Draco thought that _they're a nice couple, fit together_—and an other one of the two under a tree, Sirius' arm around Remus' shoulder, and sticking out his tongue, whilst Remus was reading a book. The images all smiled at him, and to his surprise most weren't moving. On those that were moving Remus and Sirius were mostly snogging each other senseless—in one of them they were even undressing, and suddenly they disappeared from the scene. Draco laughed at this, and the Sirius' and Remus' of all different ages stared at him. There was one picture of Remus in the living room, looking the same as he did now. One of him kissing Sirius' cheek, and another one where he was sleeping on the bed, with the pictures behind him. That one was really special, since Sirius suddenly came into the frame, and cuddled close to the other man's naked body. Some of the pictures on the wall were moving. So Draco could see their younger selves in the pictures in the picture hooting as Sirius kissed him behind his neck and Remus stirred in his sleep. It was a funny sight. Somewhere in the middle, above a big picture of the four friends, there was one with Lucius—_dad?_—in it. Draco stared a bit shocked, when he realised his dad was staring at James Potter. Besides Lucius, there was Regulus, Remus, Sirius and James. They were in some café, Remus on Sirius' lap, talking to Regulus. Suddenly James winked at Regulus, leaned over and kissed Draco's dad.

Draco's eyes widened and he stumbled back a bit, shocked. Sirius was still by the door, and he frowned.

"What's wrong? Did we do something extremely dirty?" He asked, laughing. "Odd, we usual leave the picture as soon as we've lost our shirts."

"I—" Draco began angrily, but then saw Sirius had no clue of what was going on. Lucius pulled James on his lap as their lips remained locked. Draco inhaled deeply—still staring, but then resolutely headed over to Sirius. "It's nicely done," he forced himself to say. "But I don't have too much pictures—we should do something else in my room. Let's go."

And he went into the hallway again. Sirius stayed in the doorway for a second, slightly confused. Then he closed the door and followed the blonde.

* * *

After a long debate, they had decided to clear Draco's room, magically paint the room's walls white, and then manually decorate with silver and black. Sirius flipped his wand and all the furniture disappeared. Then he murmured something as he put the tip of his wand to the wall, and they turned white.

"Wauw, this is already an improvement." Draco sighed quietly, and Sirius handed him a bucket of paint, agreeing.

Draco wondered about what he'd paint, before he sat down, and started drawing an animal—he drew a wolf's silhouette and then went over it in black, deciding he'd later put the shades in silver. Sirius was doing his best to draw a dog on one of the opposite walls, but he'd messed up a bit, and instead of a sexy dog it ended up looking like a cute whining pup. Draco laughed and told him to paint it anyways, saying he liked it—it made Sirius' eyes shine, and that was worth it.

He enjoyed this—though he'd never admit it—painting and spending quiet time with the older man. He made everything fun, and made sure Draco's mind didn't even dare to wander to Ronald Weasley, or his own father snogging James Potter.

Five hours later all the walls had different things on them. There was the wolf and the cute pup, with butterflies and a full moon—Draco had given all the figures a silver shadow, and they sparkled as Sirius put a curse on it. He told them now they'd glow in the dark, though not in the overly annoying way. There was a wall with waves and nonsensical things, like expressions Draco had once heard, and a Shakespearian poem (that he'd read in one of the books in Sirius' library, though he guessed the book belonged to Remus) that they'd decorated with flowers. The other wall had fairies and night-animals on it, like an owl and such. The other wall was empty, and Draco said he'd find something for that later. On the still-black ceiling they'd painted stars of different sizes, and Sirius had drawn the biggest one, with little stripes around it, as if it was shinning brightly. Feeling sentimental—and though Draco hadn't commented, he was actually very touched by it—Sirius had said: "that's the dog-star, the Sirius-star—it's me. Now I'll always watch over you."

They sat down on the bare floor, admiring their work, when a voice said: "wauw. That's really nicely done."

Draco turned, seeing mister Lupin in the doorway. Sirius got to his feet, immediately kissing the other man's lips, and Draco stared at the bare wall—he didn't want it to be full with marking too, in case he felt like hanging up things anyways, but now that he thought about it, Remus should have something to paint in the room. He _wanted_ Remus to paint something in the room.

_But what?_

"Mister Lu—Remus," Remus pushed Sirius away, hand against his chest and the other on his hip, so he could look at the boy. "Would you mind thinking about something you could paint?"

"Of course not," Remus smiled and he kissed Draco's cheek. "I'll come up with something good."

"Thanks." Draco murmured—he felt a bit uncomfortable. Like it wasn't good to _like_ them—but they were his family now, so he'd have to get over that.

All three of them sat down to admire the room a bit longer, sitting and staring at the walls. Until Remus got up and took a brush.

"Is it bad if it will remind you of your father?" He asked—he seemed to want to make Draco remember his father for ever, and Draco didn't mind that, so he shook his head.

And Remus set to work. Sirius and Draco watched as he began with something that looked like an egg. Then strange things were flowing from the egg, and he magically erased some of the lines—suddenly Draco noticed Remus was painting his father on the wall, right next to the door. And it was absolutely beautiful—apparently he had a hidden talent for painting. By the time he was done, Draco was gasping for breath—the resemblance was absolutely stunning. It was breathtaking, better than a picture, and Draco wanted to hug Remus senseless for it. He swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding when Remus looked at him for reassurance, and took a brush that had silver paint on it. On the floor in front of the door, he wrote: 'Art by mister Remus Lupin, mister Sirius Black, and Draco Malfoy'.

"Thank you very much," he muttered, looking at the floor still. "It's really nice—the whole room."

Sirius and Remus smiled, and Sirius pulled the boy to lie down again.

"Thanks for letting us help." He replied and stared up at the ceiling.

Remus sat down next to Sirius, but the man pulled him down to, and he cuddled against Sirius' chest. Not long after they fell in sleep—Draco didn't think about red hair or his father—the Sirius-star shinning down upon them.

* * *

When Draco woke up, his back hurt a bit, and he turned around, bumping into something solid. Blinking he noticed the solid mass to be Sirius, who had a hand under Remus' shirt, and was snoring quietly against the man's side. Remus was smiling at him, already awake. He also noticed that Remus had magiced all the furniture back, and some of Draco's boxes stood in the corner, waiting to be unpacked.

"We can change the setting of the furniture later." Remus whispered, as to not wake Sirius.

"It's okay," Draco replied, and he stretched. "It can stay like this—I'll go make you guys breakfast."

"Oh, but you don't have to." Remus assured him, but Draco shook his head: "it's the least I can do, seeing as how great you made my room look."

Remus nodded and laid his head back on the floor, nearly bumping into the bed. Draco quickly tugged on a clean shirt, changed his boxers and jeans in the bathroom and went down.

By the time he was done, Remus and Sirius had come down to join him, making conversation as he scooped their breakfast on plates and poured them cups of tea. He sat down, sipping from his glass of orange-juice, as the two lovers bickered about something that had happened years ago. He was content like this—not engaging in conversation, but just listening. He wasn't too talkative in mornings anyways. And he liked watching them—_though it's rude to stare_—it was unexplainable. He didn't like couples, really. They were too sweet, always hugging and _bleh_. But with the two men it was different. He watched as Sirius said something about tomatoes being evil and pushed them on Remus' plate, as Remus remarked that Sirius had been fine with tomatoes yesterday, and the raven-head started rambling about how every so many years on the second Monday of the so-many'th month he detested tomatoes, and how hurt he was that Remus didn't remember that. And Remus just quirked his eyebrow and kissed the other to get him to shut up. He supposed that maybe he liked watching them because they were exactly the opposite of his father and mother. They never spoke to each other, unless the spoken words were shouted. Remus and Sirius reminded Draco of his father's definition of love. His father had once said to Draco—after explaining that Malfoy's don't have preferences, they fall in love with one person, and that's it—that he'd been in love for a very long time. Just that this person happened to not be Draco's mother. And he told Draco that _love is being able to talk about nonsensical things. It is being understood and accepted, and sometimes it is hate, but in such a way that all you want to do is touch and kiss and go back to loving._ Draco had smiled, but he'd never even once thought that the man his father loved was James Potter.

"We have to restock today—the fridge is practically empty." Remus said, thankfully shaking Draco out of his thoughts.

So an hour later—after showers and getting properly dressed—they left the house, Remus and Draco with a black dog trotting ahead. They walked to the neighbourhood's store, though Remus had assured him they could post-order anything magical he wanted. All in all, the muggle-shop wasn't too bad—though Draco eyed everything in the racks with disdain. He particularly disliked the girl that had started chatting with him—_who does that? Bleh, muggles. Weirdest people in the world_—a good placed: "bugger off." Always did the trick, and he got rid of her soon enough. Sirius tripled between Remus and Draco, as Remus took the things they needed, and Draco admired all the things that could be purchased. There were some other people, but not much. One of them appeared to know Remus, and as they talked, Sirius growled at the man. Remus rolled his eyes, excused himself for his rude dog, and the other man smiled and left. As Draco eyed the sweets he saw Remus bend through his knees.

"You're insane Padfoot—not to mention impolite," but Remus still petted the black head, and nuzzled the dog behind his ear. "Don't be so jealous Love, I wouldn't want anyone else."

He kissed the fur, and by the wiggling Sirius' tail did, Draco knew all he wanted to do was shag the professor rotten. When they were waiting by the cash-register, Draco noted how Remus took a long time deciding which chocolate he should pick, and how he ended up purchasing a bar of each. It was... endearing, and _maybe I shouldn't notice their odd little quirks, but it's nice to_. The man behind the register greeted Remus and Sirius—they went there often—and gave Draco a smile and a nod, before putting their items in plastic bags. Outside Remus put all the plastic bags in his brown one, explaining that it had a special spell on it. And Draco loved it all because he learned new stuff, and though he was happy with not learning anything either, this was all new and fascinating, so _why the hell not_?

* * *

Draco was in the library when he heard the redheaded family arrive. He ignored it though—_I'm avoiding Ron and he wouldn't come here anyways_. His fingers ran over the thick backs of the dusty books, looking for something he might enjoy. Picking a thick black book, he opened it, touching the old, yellow pages. It wasn't until he heard angry click-clacking of shoes that he realised he wasn't alone.

"FUCK YOU!" Someone yelled, slamming his fist into the bookrack making the old wood tremble and some of the books fell to the floor, pages showing faded ink and wise words.

Draco reeled around, the thick potions-book clamped against his chest. It was Ron. His fingers immediately dug into the black cover—he was afraid, but would never admit it. The book worked as a shield. It was big and he held it higher than necessary as to protect himself. The redhead was absolutely furious, his ears pink and his fist next to Draco's head—he could've easily hit him. Now the blonde just felt imprisoned, _there's nowhere to go_.

They glared at each other, Ron supporting on his one arm, and Draco leaning back as far as possible. It was no use—he could still feel hot breath on his face that wasn't his own. But then suddenly they were moving at the same time. Ron bent through his arm and Draco dropped the book, burying his hands in red hair.

It was the first time Draco had ever kissed anyone—Ron had snogged girls, but Draco was still pretty much a kissing-virgin. _A virgin, period._ The kiss was all teeth and tongue, and they grabbed each other furiously, pulling closer. Ron's hands were next to Draco's head, and he pushed the smaller blonde into the rack, his back pressed against the old books.

Draco honestly had no idea what he'd done to piss of the redhead this time, but he wasn't complaining. Ron pushed their hips together, releasing a grunt from the blonde that he greedily swallowed. And they kissed—Draco had never been kissed before, and this took his breath away. _Oh my_, Ron's hand ran under the grey t-shirt Draco was wearing, over the pale skin and soon he'd pushed it over Draco's head, ruffling his hair a bit.

The blonde took hold of Ron's hips, their kiss slowing down, and lips eventually disconnecting in need of air. He took the time to unbutton the shirt, and pushed it off to reveal the broad chest and the small freckles.

"I—I don't like you." Draco panted helplessly—but Ron ignored it, and started kissing the pale shoulder, and _thank Merlin for those soft lips_.

Ron's hands slid down to the blonde's tight jeans, unzipping it and pushing until it pooled at his ankles. Kicking off his shoes and toeing off his socks he stepped out of it, only half-thinking anymore because _maybe I want this_, and then those hands—_oh, those hands_—settled on his arse, feeling roughly against it, kneading as he kissed Draco's lips again. Draco's own hands clawed at the tanned back for leverage, but he lost himself in too much feelings.

Draco bit his lip to stop himself from moaning, the only clear thought being _get him naked now_, and his hands complied. Soon they were completely pale against tan, skin touching everywhere and it made Draco darn dizzy but _oh so good_. Their lips were still kissing and he was trying to hold on to something because, _Merlin_! And his legs were around Ron's hips and it didn't feel so bad and he was biting down hard in the copper skin at his neck, sinking down his teeth, and then he bit his shoulder, and the redhead's moans were so loud as he thrusted _harder and deeper_—and Draco knew he was begging him for it, but he couldn't quite care in that moment. It was bad and evil but _oh so_ right, and _fucking hell_—he gasped again and their lips met completely unintentionally. His back hurt from being pushed into the books so long, but Ron's hands were pushing him down harder, spreading his buttocks and caressing his spine for comfort—and even though it wasn't helping to ease the pain it was nice of him to try.

The air was thick and the steady rhythm they'd build was breaking down—and Draco could feel it coming. It came from deep down in his stomach, tightening and their skin was moving and clasping obscenely and it made it _so perfect_—that he...

"Fuck, Ron!" He hissed harshly, arching his back so their chest pressed together even more, his head tipping back against the dusty literature.

Ron followed seconds later moaning his name and it was music to his ears but he was too exhausted to register the moment.

The redhead put him down but his legs were pulp and he slid down to the floor a sweaty and sticky mess of limbs. Ron settled next to him, pulling Draco on top of him, to Draco's surprise—he was a cuddly person, apparently. They kissed again—more tongue than teeth—and Draco shifted comfortably in Ron's lap. He couldn't help but admire the redhead's length, lying against his leg, a bit come dripping down. He didn't want to think it, but it was rather _beautiful_—_darn! I shouldn't have thought that_! Draco idly took one of his hands which were still against Ron's hip, nails digging in, to touch his penis. It felt soft against his hand—_wet too, but soft_—and he fingered it carefully.

Ron frowned at him tiredly, wondering what the hell he was doing—when Draco noticed this he glared.

"What?" The blonde snarled. "You just took my fucking ass and I can't touch your penis?"

"Merlin, you're so gay." Ron laughed.

"Am not!" Draco protested.

"Are too, and you rubbed your gay off on me!"

"I'm not gay," Draco said, voice snide. "I'm a Malfoy—Malfoy's aren't gay, nor are we straight! We only like one person, we don't have a type. So maybe I'm just... well... Ron-sexual."

"You're gay," Ron's still-husky voice said, and he pulled Draco's sweaty body down by his hips "But only for me," Draco wanted to protest but Ron kissed him again. "But seriously," he gasped slightly when Draco's hand moved against his member. "If you don't want me to take your sexy ass again you're going to have to stop touching me like that."

Draco grinned down at him, giving him another stroke which caused him to groan and arch his back.

"Maybe I don't mind." He purred deviously, before lowering his lips to Ron's again.

**AN1: I know Sirius doesn't have a wand, but with me he does! Neh! (Sticks out tongue childishly)**

**AN2: Damn. Why don't you just kill me now and get it over with? This was bad.**


	5. Kiss and Claw

Kiss and Claw.

**AN1: Someone commented that the sex-scene lacked preparation—and it's really true. I'd apologise for it, but I made it really hasty—the sex-scene—so it's not clear if there was preparation or not. It's supposed to have preparation—I just didn't want to describe it, nor make it too clear. I just needed it to be a bit hazy, because I don't want the story to be rated M yet. (This is a hint to all the people that did like the story so far—real lemon's coming up soon so beware.)**

**AN2: Hah. I introduce to you: Ron's schmooshy, and the schmooshy-ness rubbed off on Draco (don't believe a word the blonde thinks: he's in denial) Sirius tries to have a talk with Draco—a **_**sex**_**-talk. Oh, but not the kind of sex-talk where you tell the kids sex is evil and always use protection. No. He does sex-talk in the way only Sirius can. (Sighs) Ah well. Not like it's gonna make a difference now anyways...**

_I need a shower and this is insane_. He noticed there was a rip in his shirt as he put it on again—and some of Ron's buttons were missing. He didn't know when they'd made this agreement—but they probably liked each other because during the dressing, they were constantly giving soft kisses. Draco knew it was weird, he would have to get used to it later, because right now they had to get out of the library before someone found them. Draco left first, giving one last kiss before slipping out of the room—it was hot now, but still dusty.

His great plan of action was to get up and redress—instead Sirius called him into the living room before he had time to get up the stairs.

Which was not good because Ron was going into the living room before he went to redress too. _Shit._ Besides Sirius, Hermione, Ginny, the twins and Molly were also in the room. Sirius frowned as Draco entered, and his nose scrunched. He sniffed deeply, and it was then that Draco realised that—_oh, no! He can smell it_.

Draco's eyes widened as Sirius' mouth dropped. Suddenly Ron entered the room too, and Sirius' eyes started shinning. _Stupid Weasley_! Now he'd know for sure. _Sirius and his stupid excellent scent_.

"Ronald!" Molly said in shock as she took in her son's appearance. "What on earth have you done to your shirt!"

Ron started blushing and Draco inwardly groaned—_fabulous_. But before either of them could come up with an excuse, Sirius said: "I'm sure they just had a fight—Draco's shirt completely torn."

Draco couched and nodded, sneering: "he started it."

Ron frowned: "I did not."

"Yes you did—now, I'll be going; I need a shower." And without another word he left again.

He heard Molly yelling at her youngest son, and Draco felt a bit sorry for him—_maybe I shouldn't, because darn, my ass hurts_. He went back to his room, taking a towel and having an extra long shower. He did feel a bit dirty—semen sticky to his stomach and between his ass-cheeks. Leaning his head against the white tiles he thought about what had just happened. He'd just had sex—two times—with Ronald Weasley. Now, he'd decided that he didn't completely dislike the redhead. But he couldn't be in love with him either—though he himself had claimed to be. '_So maybe I'm just... well... Ron-sexual._' Which could be true... but that meant he was in love. He wasn't sure about that. Maybe he'd just been schmooshy—after all, Ron had pulled him closer against his body, they had sort of cuddled, after sex, which was a cliché—_but that could've made me act schmooshy and love-'n-daisies-like_. Stepping out of the shower he decided that, okay—_maybe I'm a bit in love... a teeny tinny bit. But not much—he just took my virginity, but that doesn't mean I love him..._ he sighed. This was not easy.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and went back into his bedroom, immediately greeted by the wonderful painting Remus had made of his father. Part of him wondered if he should ask Sirius about the picture he'd seen in his bedroom, but then he picked up a new pair of jeans and decided to go back to the living room. After all, Sirius had probably wanted him to stay there. He could always ask later.

Upon re-entering the living room, Ron was just leaving, ears red. Draco glanced at him once, before he came in—and collided with Remus Lupin.

"Sorry, I..." he noticed Remus was scrunching his nose and glared. "Stop sniffing me! I had a shower! There's nothing to sniff!"

Everyone stared at him as if he was insane, but Remus and Sirius exchanged a look, identical grins on their faces. Sirius said wisely: "showering won't help Draco—it's a persistent scent."

"Oh shut it, you know-it-all bastard—don't even get me started on your bedroom activities." Remus laughed and Sirius' eyes widened.

"At least with me it's not so painfully apparent!" Sirius pouted, and Draco flopped down next to him.

"That's only because you have canine senses," Draco replied and Remus left the room. "Otherwise you wouldn't have noticed."

"Pff." Sirius pouted some more and Molly frowned slightly—_she hates that she has no clue what we're on about_—Hermione and Ginny exchanged looks, and Fred and George Apparated away without a word.

Sirius playfully nudged Draco's side and Draco had to resist the urge to beat the man to death—his sides felt a bit sore. When he accidentally squatted Draco's backside the blonde shrieked and jumped up.

"AUW!" he glared at the raven-head whose eyes were like marbles again. "That hurts, insensitive sod!"

"I'm sorry," Sirius muttered and he offered Draco a pillow. The boy growled and sat down on the floor instead—but that didn't clear the ache. "I would've thought..." he didn't finish but Draco got it—it only made him glare more.

He turned around on his stomach and put his head in his hands, cuddling into the carpet—he realised people were still staring, but he couldn't give a shit. He lived here now, if he wanted to freakishly lie on the carpet, he had the right to. _They don't like me as it is—why would I care? _He murmured something about Sirius having to shut up, and closed his eyes.

He faintly heard someone entering the room, pausing and then continue walking, but he paid no mind to it. He was a bit sleepy, to be honest—_very sleepy_—and moved his head in his arms. He could hear Hermione and Ginny talking in the corner, and another voice dropped in—_Ron_—and Molly and Sirius were also having a conversation, and he rolled over a bit.

"Oh my, Draco," Molly voice suddenly said, clear in his sleep-clouded brain. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine misses Weasley—just tired." He muttered.

"That's not what I meant dear—your back, what happened?"

He groaned in distress—_can't she shut up! I want to sleep_—but he touched his back anyway. His shirt had crawled up slightly, and he could feel the imprints the bookcase had left. There were some scratch-marks, even though Ron's hands had been gentle against his body.

"Oh," he tried to make up a reliable excuse. "That's nothing—I slept on the floor yesterday, it's probably just that."

"On the floor?" Draco knew she was looking at Sirius right now, because her voice had gone from sweet and caring to harsh and questioning.

And indeed, Sirius' low voice said: "yeah, we repainted his room and fell asleep before we got to magic up the furniture again."

Soon the conversation was beeped out, and Draco fell asleep—half-asleep, half-conscious—and his mind didn't wander to his father, but to red hair and skilful hands and sinful lips, to kisses and clawing hands. It seemed like only ten minutes had passed—though in reality it was longer—when a girly voice giggled.

"I still don't see why you broke up with Lavender though." Granger said, and Draco heard a grunt—_Ron_.

"She wasn't my type."

"What is your type then?" Hermione asked, and muttered: "Knight to D3."

"I..." Draco knew Ron was getting red right now. It would start by his ears and then his cheeks would follow—and he hated himself for imagining the blushing face. "I don't know."

"Everyone has a type Ronald." Hermione said know-it-all-ish, and he heard a crashing noise, indicating that pieces were murdering each other.

"I suppose—" he seemed to think and muttered for one of his pieces to move. More crashing, and then he said: "I like smart people—but not your kind of smart," Hermione spluttered and Ron quickly said: "not that your kind of smart is bad—I just mean... the silent smart. Wisdom about the world—something so over the top no one even notices," Draco frowned, wanting to shift—he was afraid to, in case they might stop talking—_well, Malfoys are known for their curiosity, so I might as well listen._ "I want someone who gets all my weirdness—who doesn't mind the temper, someone that can equally define it, you know, someone to bite back and make up with. Just someone who understands."

"Dgee," Hermione laughed. "You're not an easy one, are you?"

"Oh come on 'mione," Ron protested. "It can't be that hard—who knows, I might just enter a library, and there it's waiting for me—kissing and clawing—Love."

Granger laughed again, but Draco's heart was beating like mad. He was rather afraid that they'd hear it beat so fast—because... _is Ron talking about me?_

"You never go to the library." And Draco heard Ron laugh too.

"It was a figure of speech! I'm just saying, with my sensitivity the size of a tea-spoon, even I have the right to expect something from true love and that crap!" Hermione sighed, and Draco could imagine her smiling—after that his vision blurred with Ron's face again. "Rook to D3."

There was a loud crash, and Hermione grumbled something.

"What do you figure Malfoy's type is?" She asked suddenly, and Draco's ears perked.

"How should I know?" Ron answered—a bit too quickly, if you asked Draco.

"I'm just wondering—have you ever seen him with a girl before?" He heard one of the pieces moving again, but was more interested in the conversation. "I know Pansy likes to pretend she's his girlfriend, but I doubt that she really is."

"Maybe he's just... I dunno. You can't blame the guy for not being into Pansy, really." Ron laughed, but Hermione stayed still.

"What would he be into than?"

It was than that Draco decided he'd heard enough—Ron just kept on saying he didn't know what Draco's type was, and Hermione just wanted to have something to talk about—_now I won't suffer for that,_ so he put a stop to it.

"It's not polite to talk about people like that—surely your parents taught you some manners." Draco said coldly, and moved a bit to get up.

Looking over at the two, he grinned evilly—they were both blushing and their mouths were hanging open.

"I'm—I'm sorry." Hermione stuttered.

"You could've just asked me," Draco stated voice cool and stable. "I don't have a type—and if I would, my type would _definitely_ not be Pansy—for once you're quite wrong Granger," he dusted off his clothes. "There's no such thing as having a type. You fall in love or you don't—the end."

He picked up the potions-book he'd been reading earlier, and left the room. When he passed the kitchen he heard people talking—_they're probably having a meeting_—and suddenly Severus Snape emerged. Draco's eyes widened. Severus was glaring, and someone called for him to stay, but when he saw the blonde he started smiling slightly—though it was a sad smile.

"Draco," the man said pleasantly, and Draco—no matter how foolish he felt—leapt into his arms. "How have you been?"

"I'm good, thank you." Draco smiled too, and then Dumbledore came from the kitchen.

"Ah, good evening mister Malfoy." The old man gave him a nod and Draco nodded back.

"I was just going to my room," Draco kissed Severus' cheek—he was his godfather, after all. "But it was nice seeing you again!"

As he went up the stairs, he heard Severus ask: "do you figure he likes it here?"

And Sirius' voice suddenly piped in: "of course he likes it here! Who wouldn't, with me around?"

"I could name one or two people." Severus snarled, and Draco chuckled before continuing up to his room.

He opened his curtains and flopped down on his bed, making himself comfortable. He knew it was a bit weird to read potion-books, but he enjoyed them. And his father had been very good at potions when he was younger, so he liked to indulge in the fine art himself. Even though now it wouldn't be able to impress his father anymore—he hoped maybe his dad was looking down on his—_which he's not, you stupid sod_—and would be proud nonetheless. And he knew how ridiculous that was—_but I need it to hold on to_.

He was well into his third chapter—_sixth paragraph, fourth line_—when there was a knock on his door. He frowned—who would knock?

"Come in?" He closed the book, putting it to the side, and in came... Sirius.

The man bounced into the room, and onto the bed, grinning widely—he wiggled his eyebrows seductively, and Draco glared. _Goddammit_—he wasn't naïve, he knew what Sirius wanted.

"So," the raven-head purred, checking if he'd closed the door securely. "You and Ron éh."

Draco scowled and coldly said: "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh come on—you reeked of boyish love and Ronald Weasley!" Sirius waved a finger at him. "Still do by the way... told you it was a persistent smell—I can small him all over you."

The blonde wasn't fazed, instead he said: "please—I don't even like him, for Merlin sakes!"

"Never said you liked him," Sirius beamed. "It's called platonic sex Draco—though I don't think your family does that, now do they? Aren't they like werewolves—they mate for life?"

"'Mate for live'?" Draco said in disbelief. "Excuse me? You make us sound like animals!"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Sirius smiled, and leaned against the feet of Draco's bed. "Now come on, tell me what happened."

"I find this rather distasteful," Draco frowned. Sirius just wiggled his eyebrows again, and the blonde sighed. "Fine. We had sex."

To his utter surprise, Sirius actually cheered—the man literally whooped because Draco got laid—_got laid good_.

"Sirius!" Draco protested. "Don't be so plain."

"But you got de-virgin-ed! Be proud."

"De-virgin-ed?" Draco's frown grew and Sirius poked him with his foot—he knew the boy was just putting on an act.

"So, tell me about it," he grinned—yes, it was in his nature to be a teenage boy, even when he wasn't anymore. "I was really amazed when I realised you let Ronald top—he actually seems like the most submissive one of the two—though I suppose that doesn't really matter."

"It doesn't?" Draco asked, doubting a bit. Was he suddenly girly because he let Ron be on top? Luckily for him he had a boy-on-boy-love expert right in front of him. Sirius caught his uncertain tone, and smiled, nudging his side again.

"Of course not—I mean... take me and Remmi—who'd you say tops?"

Draco groaned—this was definitely embarrassing, but Sirius remained smiling as always.

"I dunno," he huffed. "I'd say you."

"Always?"

"Always."

"But that's not true—" Sirius gave a wink. "Remus tops one out of tree times."

"So it doesn't matter?" Draco asked.

"No. Remus isn't most girly of us, and I'm definitely not either—it just... worked out that way," Sirius shrugged his shoulders. "The first time it went like that, and it felt alright—it wasn't until the full moon came close that we realised changing positions was nice too," at this Draco laughed. "You shouldn't feel bad about being bottom, really."

"Can I be honest?" Draco questioned, and Sirius nodded. He blushed a bit, and continued: "it feels okay—yet slightly embarrassing, because you know that when someone finds out, they'll assume you're being dominated or something."

"Very true—but you shouldn't think about that," here Sirius' voice changed, and Draco felt he was up to something. "It's not like it's going to happen again," he tipped one eyebrow up, staring at the blonde in question. "Because you don't like him, right?"

Draco scowled again, groaning softly.

"I don't know!" He spat. "It's weird—I don't think I do, but I have to! Because I mean... I'm not the sort of person that just throws special moments like that away!" Sirius gave him an encouraging smile. "Something in me has to like him! He's the first person I ever kissed and..."

Sirius crawled over to sit next to Draco, and he nudged his shoulder.

"That's okay—I guess you're just in love."

"But I can't be!" Draco protested. "I... I _hate_ him."

"Your father used to say that sometimes love is hating someone in such a way that all you want to do is touch and..."

"Kiss and go back to loving," Draco nodded. "I know."

Sirius petted Draco's hair, ruffling it slightly, and got out of the bed. He stretched once, and said: "so think about it. This could be exactly what he was talking about."

--

The door opened once more, and Draco memorized his passage—_fifth chapter, second paragraph, seventh line_—before he put his book aside once more. When he looked up he wished he hadn't—Ronald was leaning against the door. _Now what does he want?_—because Draco really hadn't considered his feelings properly, he kept on postponing the job.

"What do you need?" Draco tried to sneer—_but why can't I?_

"Now I can't even come to see you?" Ron shrugged, but he didn't move from his place by the door, as if he seemed to doubt his actions.

"We don't like each other." Draco said resolutely—but he really just wanted for Ron _to tell me how you feel_.

"You keep on telling yourself that—" Ron frowned. "But then stuff happens and suddenly you don't seem to mind anymore. What is it with you? You're just looking for a good shag or something?" He was getting pissed again.

"Are you really that stupid?" Draco protested, scowling. "You think I'd give up my first time for 'a good shag'? Idiot!"

"Well you keep giving me mixed signals!" Ron sulked.

"You give me _no_ signals!"

"Oh come on," Ron pushed himself away from the door, and walked over to the bed, sitting down at the end. "I kissed you!"

"You're always pissed."

"You always say you don't like me." Ron debated.

"Maybe we should just accept that some things can't be changed," Draco quirked an eyebrow. "And you'll just continue to be mad at me—and I'll just tell you I don't like you."

"But we'll both know better," Ron agreed. "Yeah, I think that might work."

"And we'll just see how we feel about each other later." Draco decided—_well, this is working out rather nicely_—but it really didn't because he just wanted to know _what we really feel_. But he'd never admit that out loud.

The blonde went back to his book, but Ron didn't leave. He made himself more comfortable on the bed, kicking off his shoes as to not make the sheets dirty. Draco vaguely noted that he was wearing one of those maroon sweaters again—_how many does he have of those?_ –but tried to not pay too much attention to the boy. Which was a bit hard, because he wriggled his toes cutely in his socks—_cutely? You've got to be kidding me!_—and put his arms behind his head. He looked like he wouldn't be going anywhere in a while, and Draco wondered, _did he tell anyone he was going to spend some time in my bedroom_? Probably not.

Ron closed his eyes and Draco looked down at his book again—_it's so off, to have Ron in my room without conversation, or yelling or anything_. Just icy silence—it seemed wrong. So before he could even scold at himself for doing it, he put his book away and crawled over to the outspread body, snuggling against the redhead's side—_snuggling? You sentimental fool!_—but for once he chose not to listen to his brain, and looked up at Ron's face. The boy smiled down, eyes still closed, and moved one hand from behind his head around Draco's hip.

"Pff," he muttered. "Sentimental bitch."

At this he grinned, opening his eyes.

"Oh of course," he said sarcastically. "_I_'m the sentimental bitch here."

"Always." Draco nodded—maybe it wasn't all too bad to like Ron. He was nice to spend time with—and he couldn't help but _feel safe in your arms_.

--

Draco found that of all things in the world that could possibly be interesting—this is not it. With 'it', he meant of course, the ceiling. No. The ceiling really was not that extraordinary. He really wished something would happen already, because the stupid redhead was sleeping and—KNOCK KNOCK. _Oh no!_—yeah, he'd wanted something to happen. But someone finding them asleep in his bed didn't count!

He crawled onto the boy, and with one swift move he pushed him off his bed, still sitting up on his knees. He fell with a great THUNK and normally Draco would laugh—but it wasn't all that funny.

"AUW!" the redhead rubbed his head, glaring at Draco, but he put his fingers to his lips, and said: "yes, come in."

Ron's eyes widened and without another word he crawled under the bed. Draco could still hear him swear silently, but focused on the door instead—he hadn't pushed him off a second too late: it was Hermione. She was frowning, and Draco knew she'd heard Ron's cry.

"Are you okay?" She came into the room, looking around cautiously.

"Yes, I just... hit my toe. What do you want Granger?" He tried to distract her from the noises she's hurt—and apparently he did well because her face lit up—_what the hell? I hit my toe and she smiles? Ignorant girl_.

"I was actually looking for Ron," she touched the drawer, looking at Draco's things. "Have you seen him?"

"Nope, I'm sorry."

"That's quite alright," she straightened her back, stepping away. "I guess I'll be going then. Bye."

"Okay..." Draco frowned, and as she left, he got out of bed, going over to the drawer.

Ron's head popped up seconds later, as he crawled back onto the comfortable bed, muttering curses at Draco, who raised his hand—she'd left a strange object. He glanced over at Ron once, before running after the brunette.

"Granger! You forgot this!" He called, and she turned around—she was nervously fidgeting about, as he extracted his hand. It was an extendable ear—but Draco didn't know that.

"That's not mine, it's..." she was cut off when Fred and George Apparated, pointing accusingly at Draco.

"YOU'RE HIDING RON!" They yelled together and Draco scowled.

"Excuse me? Why would I hide weasel?"

"He's in your bedroom," Fred said.

"We heard him curse at you!" George ended.

Fred nodded, and they pushed passed the blonde, entering his room. Hermione sighed—obviously regretting she'd been part of the plan, and Draco glared at her before following the twins.

When he entered his room they were rummaging about in his drawers and Draco completely freaked out—they even pushed a lamp, by accident, which fell and broke. Ron was nowhere in sight, and Draco figured he was hiding in the bathroom.

"YOU STUPID, INSANE, BASTARDS!" Draco yelled, and pulled one of the brothers down by his collar. "WHAT ON EARTH DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? YOU'RE BREAKING MY STUFF, WHAT GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO JUST INTRUDE MY ROOM LIKE THIS?" he dragged the shocked redhead out by his shirt. "I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOUR STUPID BROTHER IS!" he pushed the other one out of the room—Fred and George were both dumbstruck by the blonde's rage, and didn't protest. "AND IT'S NOT MY FAULT YOU LOST HIM SO SCRAM AND NEVER COME NEAR MY ROOM AGAIN!" he slammed the door in their faces, locked it—with a spell, twice, to be sure—and put a hex on the room, so they wouldn't be able to hear him talking.

"Ron, what the fuck," he glared at the bathroom door. "You never told me your brothers were this enraged!"

"They're just overreacting," Ron whispered, as he extended the bathroom. Draco's eyes followed him about the room. "Bet 'mione told them I was missing or something and they went about assuming you'd done something—I can't believe 'mione helped them though—she'd hate to call my mum's wrath upon herself."

"You're all morons." Draco huffed, tapping his foot.

Ron flashed him a grin, and cuddled him from behind, making the blonde's frown grow—_am I a fucking teddy-bear?_ He placed butterfly kissing over the other's neck, making him hiss violently—he wasn't really one for close, unexpected contact, but Ron knew, so he didn't react. His hands disappeared down Draco's jeans, and Draco clawed to get them off—he didn't feel like doing anything right now, _Ron's a bastard, and he just wants sex again_. But instead of removing his hands, he pulled Draco back onto the bed, and Draco was about to yell at him—hands still clawing, digging down deep into his copped skin, when he placed a sweet kiss against his cheek and whispered: "and now just ignore that you ever met my brothers and sleep—I'm tired."

And Draco's eyes grew and he stopped trying to pry Ron off—_what_? But before he could even laugh at Ron's remark, he felt the steady breathing in his neck, and knew Ron had been true to his word—using Draco as a pillow in the process. Huffelpuff's-I'm-so-happy grin occurred to Draco, but he restraint—_I'm no Huffelpuff!_—yet he was still rather glad to know they didn't need to be all about the kisses and the clawing at each other's back. Maybe they could also be about sleeping and using each other as pillows.

**AN: Man, that really wasn't supposed to suck that badly. I tried to make it work. Sjeesh. Review and let me know how bad exactly it was!**


	6. Prince and Peasant

Prince and Peasant.

"Pass me the carrots Ron, will ya?" Ron stared at the carrots—they were right in front of Draco, but apparently his brothers didn't feel like messing with the blonde again.

He shrugged and handed them over—the twins earned themselves a glance from Draco, and they shuddered: he was a bit scary when he yelled. Sirius frowned angrily at the twins—he'd heard about their invasion of Draco's room, and though he knew Draco had indeed been hiding Ron, it really wasn't their place. He'd scolded them before, which was why they were being so timid—they'd never been scolded on by Sirius before, which meant they'd really crossed the line.

Hermione kept looking at her plate, ashamed that she'd helped the twins. True, she didn't like Draco, but she shouldn't have. Ron pretended not to have the faintest clue what was going on—though he found it quite amusing to watch the twins and Hermione flush every time they looked at the dreadful blonde. But Ron could see by the look in Draco's eyes that their stares were annoying him—and knowing his temper, he'd probably let them know soon enough. And Ron was indeed right. He finished his plate, and when Fred and George both stared at him again, he got up, scowling.

"Stop staring! You idiotic redheaded freaks!" And without another word, he stormed out of the room.

--

"Stupid Weasley offspring." Draco grunted—_where am I anyways?_—and flopped down on one of the oh-so-convenient chairs.

Glancing around he realised he was in the most dusty dining-room he'd ever been in. Yet it was very beautiful, to be quite honest. This had to be the oldest most sophisticated room in the whole house. Large silver chandeliers, and deep-green tapestries. The table was made of old red wood, with deep carvings on the side. It was set—oddly enough—with fine silver knives and forks and spoons, as if someone was preparing for a three-course meal—_or more, judging by the extra spoon, and the smaller fork_—there were fine crystal glasses out too. Under the cutlery there were white—dusted—napkins with the Black emblem. Everything seemed to carry the crest, actually. And Draco noticed that someone came into the room regularly—the curtains were opened a bit, and there were places that were untouched by dust.

He heaved an irritated sigh and shifted a bit in the chair. _The Weasleys are the most annoying people I've ever met—and Ron isn't that great either! The stupid ass_—his head was buzzing with a million different voices at once, all saying different things. Like how he'd stupidly given his virginity to a redhead fool, that made a lot of noise and was always so darn... so darn... _Ron-ish_! One of them claimed that he was in love and that he wasn't foolish, while the other yelled that he should kick Weasel's ass for this. A whole other voice said he was hungry and that he should've eaten more—but that was beside the point.

To top it all off, the door opened and aforementioned Weasel entered the room—just what Draco needed.

"Go away," he grunted. "I don't want to see you, you freaky stalker."

"I'm not stalking you," Ron protested. "I just wanted to get away from the kitchen."

"I don't care!" Draco snapped—Ron frowned slightly at the outburst. "Just leave me alone—I haven't thought about this yet so I don't want to see you!"

"About what?"

"I'm not supposed to like you, you idiot," Draco sneered, crossing his legs. "You're a fucking Weasley! I can't like you—so I have to think about this."

The redhead glared at him—his own personal Weasley-glare, which he'd undoubtedly learned from the twins—and walked over to Draco's chair, dropping down in front of him. Draco tried to look angry, but the fact that Ronald was so close again put him off—his heart started beating faster and he heard his breathing getting harder.

"I don't want you to think about it," Ron whispered. "You can't think about it—because then maybe you'll change your mind, and I don't want that."

He placed his hands on the other's knees, and Draco felt his cheeks burn up a bit. He didn't want to talk anymore—because Ron was right. He knew he had postponed that whole 'sorting his mind' for days, because he liked liking Ron—_it's as simple as that. It's not as bad as it could be, his touch is better than it should be, his kisses sweeter than they're supposed to be_.

Liking Ron seemed to not be the end of the world—and it confused Draco to no end. He was trained to loathe the Weasleys—everything they stood for was the very core of all that the Malfoys opposed. They simply didn't work, it didn't go that way. They were loud, had a temper and red hair and a bunch of freckles. Malfoys were refined and distinguished, never let emotions show and embodied everything pure. _Goddammit, even our sexual experiences are a sign of that!_ Weasleys obviously had no trouble fooling around until they found the right one, while Malfoys first found the right one, and then fooled around. It was obvious enough that they weren't supposed to fit well. _Yet his body clicks perfectly into mine._

"My mum said I should have a bath," Ron suddenly said. "You wanna join me?"

Draco glared down at him—but he was grinning in that sheepish way of his, and that made it so hard to protest.

--

"If someone sees, and yells at _me_ for this, I'm hitting you," Draco grunted, and dropped his clothes. He was just sitting down in the warm water when he noticed Ron was fully dressed, and staring. "What? I thought you wanted a bath?"

"You're just so…" Ron began, and Draco rose and eyebrow, shifting down into the foam. "Beautiful."

At this the blonde laughed and said: "thanks but I don't need the compliments—I don't have a low self-esteem," when Ron didn't move to undress though, he frowned: "do you?"

"No!" Ron's ears blazed red immediately. "Of course not!"

Draco gave a sigh and stood again—_oh, now I'm comforting him? Great_—carelessly stepping onto the carpet. He started unbuttoning Ron's shirt, grazing the skin underneath with his wet hands.

"Listen to me carefully," he said—somewhat cold, but as nice as he could muster. "Because I'm only saying this once in our whole entire lives: I know you have five older brothers and it's hard to be something they haven't been before," Ron's cheeks were still red, and he watched as Draco undid his last button. "But you've got the most stunning body I've ever seen before—and the gorgeousness of your freckles is quite unprecedented," when he unzipped the redhead's trousers the boy's cheeks got a darker tint, and Draco lured up at him with a sexy grin. "And I don't think I need to remind you of how fond I am of your cock, so stop being a whining bitch and just accept that you're absolutely perfect."

Ron looked a bit doubting—with his red ears and those big hands trying to hide parts of his body—and Draco didn't know what he was doing but suddenly his hand was on Ron's cheek, thumb caressing his jawbone, and he was bringing the other's head closer, until their lips met. It wasn't a very special kiss—there wasn't much remarkable about it—apart from the fact that Draco had truly initialized it—all by himself. And that was a first.

When they parted Draco wasted no time getting back into the tub—he was quite chilly actually. Though he kept his hand entwined with Ron, forcing him to sit with him. The redhead didn't seem completely comfortable yet though, tucking his legs close to his chest.

"I don't see what the problem is," Draco tipped one eyebrow up, sinking deeper into the foam. His foot glided against Ron's leg, and he tucked it under his knee, pulling his body closer. "We've seen each other naked, why are you so tense?"

"This is different," Ron muttered, and Draco brought him closer still. "It's just so…" he gave a sigh. Draco reached out and pulled him down between his legs, hugging him against his body—he had no idea what had gotten over him. He just felt the need to be… _nice? Close? What?_ "And you're really…"

"Beautiful, yeah," Draco sniggered, stroking through the damp red threshes. "You've mentioned that."

"I hate the part where I don't get to compliment you," Ron grunted against the blonde's pale chest. "It's a stupid rule."

He shifted between Draco's legs, making them more comfortable, and Draco knew he was finally relaxing. His hip stuck out from under the bubbles a bit and Draco just wanted to kiss it all over. The strong arms encircled his waist, and he pulled up his knees, so they stuck out too.

"It's not a rule," he closed his eyes—now that Ron was okay, he could enjoy this too. "I just don't want you to feel like you have to compliment me just so you can get laid."

Ron chuckled softly, and murmured: "but I meant it—whether you believe me or not."

Draco didn't comment, but couldn't help the smile from tugging on his lips. He continued stroking the red hair, eyes still closed. He really felt at ease—_Ron always seems to do that to me_. All the worries of the world just sank away into the quiet foamy water, washing away Draco's sins. Until suddenly there was a knock on the door. Before they could say anything it opened, and Ron ducked—sending Draco into a fit of giggles because of the hair tickling his stomach and thighs.

And in came Molly Weasley—babbling about laundry with a basket against her hip. Draco went rigid and Molly stilled, mouth agape.

"Oh!" She averted her eyes, backing out. "I thought it was my son—I'm terribly sorry…" she stopped. Then changed the subject: "do you have dirty clothes for me? I'm doing laundry."

"Erm… yeah… in my bedroom…" Draco watched as she fidgeted to get out of the room again. "Thanks."

She gave a nod, blushing a bright red as she closed the door again—she was gone as quickly as she'd come.

Seconds later Ron's head broke through the surface, and he wiped the soapy water from his eyes. Draco rolled his eyes, and the redhead coughed slightly—_is he really stupid enough to try to swallow bathing water?_—putting his head against the pale chest again.

He opened his mouth to give the boy a snide remark, but suddenly there was another knock on the door. Ron swore quietly and went to duck again, when Sirius' voice called: "hey—Molly's doing laundry and I left some clothes in there. Can I come in? I won't look—I swear." They heard him shrug, and Draco smiled.

"It's okay," he muttered to Ron, who frowned in question. "He knows—he could sort of smell it," he scrunched his nose in disgust, not too happy about the fact, but it was inevitable—_besides, it's not that bad… he knows about things like this._ "You can come in." He called to the door, and it opened.

Sirius slipped into the bathroom, closing the door quickly again, and stopped when he noticed Ron. The boy shifted uncomfortably, but there were bubbles everywhere, so really, there wasn't anything for Sirius to see. A feral grin appeared on Sirius' face, and Draco rolled his eyes. Before Sirius could comment, he cut him off.

"Not a word, or I kick your butt." _Ron's uncomfortable enough as it is_.

"Ow," Sirius pouted slightly and Ron blinked twice. "I wasn't going to be evil! Just some puns!"

"No."

"Pff, you're no fun!" Sirius frowned, still pouting, and picked up some jeans and socks, that he'd left by the sink. Heading for the door, he gave them a wink. "I'll leave you two lover-birds alone then!"

"We're not lover-birds!" Draco shrieked upset, but Ron laughed, and Sirius blew them a kiss.

The blonde stared in disbelief at the giggling boy, glaring angrily at him—_he giggles? Darn, he's such a girl!_ Ron soon noticed his death-glare, and stopped, reducing into a final chuckle. Pressing a kiss to the pale chest he smiled his goofy smile, and murmured: "yes, I giggle. But I always deny it later, so don't be such a glaring bitch about it."

"Pff, make me." Draco dared.

And five minutes later he was on his knees, forehead against the tiled wall and hands on Ron's, which were currently busy moving Draco's body against his own. He tried his best not to make too much noise—so did Ron, if the hands gripping against his skin were any indication. But even if they might've miserably failed, Draco couldn't give a damn because _this is heaven and I never want to stop feeling this way._

--

"I hate you." Draco huffed.

"No you don't." Ron smiled—'I hate you' coming from Draco was more like 'I love you' these days—though he'd never said those precise words.

The only sound coming from the blonde was another indignant huff—_warm water makes me tired and the couch is snugly, and my feet are comfy in Ron's lap, and_ it was good. Ron closed his eyes weaving his fingers through Draco's woollen socks. By the time Draco was fast asleep, Ron had successfully managed to relax on the couch, still caressing the other's socks.

When Hermione entered the living-room—where they were currently seated—he freaked out, took Draco's foot, and without further notice, threw the boy off. Hermione smiled when she saw the redhead, and frowned when Draco gave a great yelp. She came closer into the room, and noticed his body laying on the floor. Ron blushed.

"What the hell!" Draco yelled, rubbing his sore elbow—it had collided with the glass table. "What is your problem, you stupid oaf!" he scolded, and got up. Noticing Hermione, he gave the redhead an extra-evil-glare. Not that it mattered, since Ron's ears were already red, and his eyes shone with guilt—_but fuck him_!

"You were in my breathing-space!" Ron protested—which wasn't true, but _of course, me in his lap would upset his mudblood friend_.

"Yeah well, you could've fucking told me!" without another word he left the living-room.

"What happened?" Hermione asked confused.

"Malfoy's a PMSing bitch, is all." Ron continued staring at his shoes—he knew he was in trouble, and part of him couldn't even blame the blonde for being pissed.

--

It wasn't until the two days later that Ron finally managed to corner Draco. Well, _'corner'_ was a big word. He was searching for him, going up a set of stairs, when he suddenly saw the blonde walking down a hallway—deep indulged in a potions book.

"Hey!" Ron called, and Draco stilled, turning around—though his eyes stayed fixed on the pages. "You can't stay mad at me forever!"

"Can't I?" Draco asked sceptically, tipping up an eyebrow—because darn, _my elbow's throbbing, and I'll be damned if I let him off so easily._

"No you can't because we're like..." Ron bit his lip. He wanted to fix this, and they really reminded him a bit of something Hermione had told him of. What was it again? "A fairytale. And you're the spoiled rich prince and you need me the..."

"Poor peasant?" The blonde interrupted sarcastically. "Redheaded jester? Befreckled filth?"

"Whatever," Ron rolled his eyes, trailing on. "You need me because you want to get away from your spoiled life as a wealthy prince—really, you're just sick of it," he indulged himself further in the fantasy, and inside his head he could see the handsome Draco-prince locked up in a high tower, lurking at him through the window—like Rapunzel—though he hadn't figured out how to get up yet. "And then I save you and we live happily ever after."

"You're mistaking me for someone else," Draco closed his book, marking his page. "You see, your fairytale prince isn't really spoiled—but trust me, I'm not pretending."

Ron balled his fists in aggravation—he knew Draco wasn't completely lying. The boy was spoiled and rich, but Ron knew he wanted to get out of the cold unfeeling life too. The spoiled rich prince was only part of Draco's identity. With Ron he could find out the rest.

"You can't be mad at me! You threw me off your bed too!" Ron protested.

"You think that that's what this is about?" Draco frowned at the redhead in disbelief—what a fool. "I don't want someone who is ashamed of being with me, you stupid peasant. I don't want to have to hide just because my lover's too fucking stuck-up and prejudiced because I'm a boy and his former arch-nemesis! I'm amazing! Thousands of men would love to be in your place—flaunting with me and whatnot. Instead I get the guy that's ashamed of admitting he wants me, because his friends might make a problem of it."

Ron's mouth dropped.

"This is because Hermione doesn't know?" He asked in disbelief. "But you didn't willingly tell anyone yourself—Sirius doesn't count because he smelled it."

"Are you kidding me!" Draco's face paled, and Ron wondered what he'd done wrong—something had obviously upset him deeply. "I didn't tell anyone?" he asked maliciously. "You stupid, ignorant fuck! I don't have brothers or siblings—I don't even have parents! There's no one _to tell_!"

Ron swallowed hard—he hadn't been thinking, but _that's it, he never does_.

"Draco please," the redhead begged. "Don't be upset, I didn't mean it that way, I just..."

"Shut up." Draco snapped, threw his book at Ron's head, and ran down the stairs, slamming the door on his way out of the house.

--

"Where on earth is Draco?" Sirius asked. "I haven't seen him all day—and now he's missing out on dinner? Are you sure he wasn't in his room Molly?"

He looked at their redhaired chef, who was busy with a frying pan. She shook her head, and he then focussed on her children and Hermione. They were all in the kitchen, dinner almost ready, but Draco was missing out. Ron's ears blazed red and he murmured something incomprehensible. Everyone turned to him in question and Sirius frowned.

"What was that Ron?"

"I said: he ran away." Ron muttered and Hermione frowned too.

"What do you mean? How do you know?" She asked bossily.

"We were just... and then he..." Ron faltered and Sirius stood up abruptly.

"Dammit Ron," he scolded, looking at him with somewhat of disappointment in his eyes. "I know he's not always likeable, and I'm sure you're both to blame, but try and be a bit sensitive. He lost his parents, if he's being a bigger bastard than usual, you really can't blame him."

"I know, I know," Ron put his head in his hands. "I really wanted to go after him, but you know how sometimes he gets really snappy and don't-touch-me like and it's really scary and if you touch him then you just make it worse," he ignored the strange looks his brothers were giving him, and continued. "So I thought maybe it was just best to let him cool off for a minute—I didn't know he would stay away for so long."

Sirius was about to reply when the front-door opened, and Remus' voice called only a second later: "Sirius? Can you come here for a minute?"

He glanced at Ron again, before leaving the kitchen.

"Oh God!" they heard Sirius gasp. "There you are! I was so worried!"

"He came to the office, asking if it was okay if he went home with me." Remus explained—Hermione figured they were talking about Draco, and indeed:

"Look what I've got!" The blonde said chipperly, and they heard the three come closer. "Clothes! And a purse. Do you want a purse?"

"Why would you buy a purse?" Sirius asked, entering the kitchen.

"Oh, purses are very relaxing things to buy," Draco explained, entering behind Sirius—he was wearing dark shades, his jacket hanging open, his jeans rode low on his hips and carrying about a dozen shopping bags. "But I forgot I don't have a woman-figure anymore. I used to always give them to my mum," he straightened his back when he noticed the Weaslette cooking. "Oh, misses Weasley, do you want a purse? It'd be a shame to throw it away."

Remus came in too, looking at the bags in amazement.

"I still don't see how you got to all this stuff." He exclaimed, peeking into one of the bags.

"I was depressed," Draco put his bags on the table. "I shop fast when I'm depressed—oh, I got you something too."

He dug up a dark purple bag, extracting a... Sirius howled with laughter. It was a leather collar and a whip. He handed Remus the whip, and the brunette's eyes grew. Throwing the collar to Sirius he winked.

"London's got the biggest variety of sex-shops, did you know that?" Remus continued to stare and Draco shrugged. "Don't look so shocked. You're a werewolf, you're bound to have a nasty side—besides, I was bored and the shop-owner was flirting with me. I just couldn't resist to tease."

"How old was he?" Sirius tipped up an eyebrow in question.

"Forty-three, but whatever," Ron's eyes widened and he glared at the blonde—he just hoped he hadn't really done anything but _fuck him 'cause he sucks._ He bent over, rummaging through another bag. "I bought all these shoes, darn, I'm never even going to wear them. Oh. I can't believe it. I even bought perfume. Do I wear that crap?"

He continued inspecting the bags, and Remus smiled.

"So you're one of those people that buy useless things when they're depressed?"

"Totally," Draco shrugged, and suddenly extracted his hand triumphantly. "I even bought garters! That was so much fun—I got this really cute girl to show them. Hah." He threw the garters away, and they landed in Sirius face, who spluttered. Remus laughed—everyone else just looked shocked and surprised. Though Molly resumed cooking. Fred and George exchanged a look. Ginny was wondering if there'd be a chance to get that perfume the blonde had purchased.

"You should keep these," Sirius said, picking the garters from his head. "I'm sure they look very nice on you."

"Everything looks nice on me—but it's not because I buy the girly crap, that I'm gonna wear it," Ron outstretched a hand, a pink bag catching his eye—he just had to see what was in that one—but Draco slapped it away. "Fuck off Weasel, stay the hell away from my stuff."

"Don't be such a bitch!" Ron glared, standing.

"I'm not the one that started it!"

"You could at least give me time to explain before going on a shopping-spree because of me!"

"Don't you ever think that you fucking affect my life," Draco yelled—Hermione felt an urge to cover her ears, he was really loud—and Molly turned in surprise, the blonde finally catching her attention too. Remus and Sirius looked at each other, neither knowing what to do. "You mean nothing to me, or to my shopping-spree! You're not even worthy of my attention, stuck up whore."

"Fine!" Ron headed for the door, screaming: "I'll just have to win your attention back than!"

"You girl!" Draco huffed, staring at the spot where the redhead used to be.

"I'm not the one with garters!" They heard Ron's voice come from the hallway.

"Yeah, well, I'm man enough to pull them off!" he tapped his foot, and then sighed. "Damn. I need to shop again—stupid freckle-face." And without further notice of the occupants in the room, he magiced his bags away, and left again.

--

When Draco came down the next morning—completely spent from all the shopping—passing the living room on the second floor, he noticed that apparently everyone was gathered there. Noticing how—_frightened?_—they all looked, he decided to have a peek for himself.

"What's going on?" He asked to no one in particular, and it was one of the twins that answered him.

"Ron's having a break-down," Fred said—_or is that George?_ He sounded worried. "He's threatening to blow himself up."

"WHAT!" Draco's eyes widened—he knew Ron was just asking for his attention... well, he hoped that was it—past experiences had learned him that _with a Weasley you can never be sure._

Pushing past the Weasley children and Granger, he went over to the door.

"You can't go in," Hermione said in her I'm-the-boss-of-you tone. "Molly told us to—"

But Draco ignored her and stalked into the living room, closing the door—they were all protesting, but he pretended not to hear them—like a fine Malfoy should.

"Draco sweetheart," Molly said, who stood closest to the door—Ron's head snapped up at hearing the blonde's name, and his eyes twinkled mischievously even though he had his wand posed against his temple. "I think it's better if you go," Arthur was scampering about, afraid Ron might do something if he came too close, and he turned too, noticing the boy. "We'll be right there."

Draco gave her a smile, and walked further into the room, pushing past Arthur.

"What the hell are you doing freckles?" Draco tipped up an eyebrow, putting his hand on his hip. He was actually scared as hell—because maybe he'd been too hard and maybe the redhead was being serious. Maybe he shouldn't have ignored him so long, and _what if he really dies right now? What do I do then... I don't... I don't think I want to lose him._

Arthur and Molly exchanged a look, wanting to protest, but Ron flashed him a smile and their eyes widened. Arthur was absolutely lost, since when did Ron _smile_ at Malfoy's boy? Molly felt an urge to hang her mouth.

"I'm committing suicide. What use do I have in this unrequited vessel that is my life?" He said dramatically, and Draco laughed.

Molly buried her head in her hands, whimpering softly. Arthur frowned—he too knew Ron wasn't really going to do anything, but he'd been frightening them all with his behaviour.

"You're just being a drama-queen," Draco replied—as long as his voice kept steady, he'd make it. "You can't kill yourself—what would I do when you're gone? Everyone else has left me. I was hoping you were an exception."

"You'd miss me?" Ron asked hopefully.

"Are you kidding me?" Draco laughed, _work the Malfoy sarcasm_. "No I wouldn't miss you—definitely not when you'd leave just to get my attention. It's a bit pathetic."

"Well you were pissed!" Ron protested, sulking sadly—Draco could feel victory would soon be his. "I should kill myself—I hurt the love of my life!"

"Don't be so dramatic—you just misspoke. But you do have a point," Molly looked through the slit of her fingers, wondering what was going on. "You're a dirty rapist. You deserve death."

Ron laughed too, lowering his wand—Draco inwardly sighed and cheered and did a happy dance.

"You were begging for it, you stupid prick."

"Same difference," Draco held out his hand. "Now give me your wand—I mean: you're not going to use it. You're too much of a goody-goody person. You're afraid to even think the words 'avada kedavra' let alone say them out loud with a wand in your hand."

"Oh?" In a flash Ron had the wand to his head again. "Really? A—"

Molly screamed and Arthur freaked out—Draco did too, and he could feel himself dreading for his own life, because _how can I breathe when he's not there?_ Then he was pouncing on Ron, throwing the boy to the floor, his wand scattering across the room. Molly sighed in relief, holding her hand to her heart, and Arthur stood there in shock as the boys continued fighting.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Draco yelled, tears in his eyes. "ARE YOU INSANE! YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME YOU STUPID PRICK!"

"Draco, shh, relax," Ron's eyes were wide too—he was surprised the blonde was really so afraid of loosing him. "I was going to say 'abracadabra', just as a tease."

"YOU BASTARD!" The blonde pounded his fists into Ron's chest—though it was weak and Ron hardly felt it. He took the boy's hands and pulled him down, cradling him until he calmed down.

"Relax Love," he cooed and Molly gasped—she'd been shocked her son used Malfoy's first name, but 'love'? Wasn't that a bit over top? "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you intentionally, come on," he kissed the top of the blonde's head, and Arthur backed off—this could not be good. "Don't cry, please, I didn't mean to startle you."

"Stupid pimple." Draco sniffled and felt the chuckle in Ron's chest.

"Pimple?" he laughed, and kissed the other boy softly on his lips—his cheeks were stained, and the kiss tasted a bit salty.

"Ieuw Ron," Draco looked up in his eyes. "You can't kiss me when I just called you a pimple. That's gross."

"Oh shut up," he briefly connected their lips again. "Come on, Love, please don't be mad," he sniffled again, and Ron carefully stroked his hair. "I'm sorry about what I said and did, please forgive me," he kissed the blonde's temple, one hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. Molly just couldn't comprehend how a suicidal son led to a son lying on the floor with a Malfoy on top, _making out_. "Don't leave me."

Draco looked up at him with teary eyes, and muttered: "only if you return the favour."

Ron grinned, connecting their lips again, then sat up a bit. Draco clamped on to his sweater, fearing that _he'll let go_.

"Let's get up. I've got enough of lying on the floor." The redhead kissed his forehead softly.

Draco nodded, whipping the tears out of his eyes. Ron gave him a smile and helped him get up—he really felt a need to take care of him, since he'd been so obviously shocked. But really, Ron hadn't meant any bad. He'd just been wanting some attention from him, since they'd been having a fight.

When they stood—Draco shaking bit —Ron finally noticed his parents, who were still standing there, dumb-struck.

"Ron?" Molly was the first to break the very uncomfortable silence—Draco knew he should have probably let go of Ron to make this easier, but admitted, _his hand is firmly plastered on my hip, so maybe he doesn't mind that much._

"Oh, right..." Ron absentmindedly scratched the back of his head. "I suppose I didn't tell you. Mum, dad, I'm kinda gay... and in love with Draco."

There was a moment of silence, before both Arthur and Molly started yelling—loud and incoherently. At each other, probably—both in distress, pointing at Ron every now and than. It was their way of discussing any mistakes their son's might make.

Ron's rolled his eyes muttering: "they do that a lot, don't worry." And Draco stared at them in distaste.

"It's not the end of the world you know!" Ron yelled, so they would hear him. They stopped, looking at their son. "It's not. So I'll let you yell at each other, and when you've decided whether you want to lock me up and throw away the key or not, let me know. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone yet."

Their eyes grew even wider, looking at him and then at Draco. Then they looked at each other, and started yelling again. Draco frowned, and they left the living room together.

"Your parents are insane." The blonde decided, before they were indulged by the Weasley kids, who wanted to hug their little brother.

"Ron! Finally! You startled us!" The Weaslette exclaimed, jumping around like crazy.

"Ah, we knew you weren't going to do anything," Fred or George said.

"Though we did fret for your life." The other dropped in.

Granger was pale and didn't say anything until Ron smiled at her, and wrapped his arms around her. Draco felt a sting of jealousy, rolled his eyes at himself, and left.

--

"Draco?" a voice called from the hallway, and a small knock on the door followed. Draco quickly tugged on his pyjama trousers, and went over to the door. It was Ron, nervously standing there in his auburn pyjamas—the trousers barely reached his ankles, and the sleeves were too short. Draco sniggered and let him in. Before he could give a snarly remark about the redhead's appearance, the boy asked: "are you angry with me?"

"No, why?" Draco frowned, and Ron sat down on his bed.

"Because of Hermione," Ron blushed. "I thought maybe you were pissed or something."

"I could be," Draco laughed, sitting down next to him. "I don't need a reason to be mad with you, really. But right now I'm not. She's ugly, and if you want her ass instead of mine you have no taste—not to mention that I don't want you to point your wand at your temple again, so I'll try to be nice for now."

"'m sorry about that," Ron admitted. "It had the right outcome, but the procedure was different than I had planned it to be."

Draco said nothing, and Ron glanced over at him, before quickly kissing his lips. The blonde's hands tangled themselves in the red locks immediately, and soon Ron was pushing him down on the bed, lips going to his neck, and hands slipping under his pyjama-shirt.

"Wait Ron," Draco moaned harshly, trying to push against the redhead's shoulders, but he failed when Ron gave his neck a nip. His lips trailed down, not noticing Draco's pleas as his hands went to the cords of Draco's trousers. Draco groaned loudly, knowing they'd soon reach the point of no return—definitely if Ron's mouth went any lower. "Ronald, stop!"

Ron looked up, finally hearing the blonde—which is good, because_ at least he doesn't hurt me._ He supported himself on his elbows.

"What's wrong? Did I do something?"

Draco shook his head, panting slightly as he got up.

"We can't do it here, what if someone comes in? Sirius'll want to check on me, I can't just lock the door. We should wait."

"Let's just go somewhere else than," Ron whined, giving Draco's collarbone a lick. "I don't want to wait."

"Fine, where do you propose we go than?"

Ron started grinning mischievously.

--

When Draco said 'what if someone comes in' Ron obviously hadn't been listening. They were currently in the grand dinning room—the one where barely anyone ever came—but somehow Draco didn't feel all too safe. Sure, he liked sex—a lot—but if someone was about to barge in, he wasn't sure if he wanted them to see him in such a compromising position. And locking the door wasn't an option, since people would wonder why someone locked a dinning room.

"Ron, what the hell are you doing, stupid peasant?" Draco looked down at the boy that was currently on his knees, undoing the laces of Draco's trousers.

"Shut up, oh mighty prince," Ron answered sarcastically, tugging down the pants. "Someone will hear you—and it was your idea to go somewhere else."

"Aha," Draco nodded. _Well, if we're going to do it, we better hurry._ "Okay than."

He wasted no time in getting Ron up—_it's been a while since he's been naked and sweating in front of me, so we better make this really good_—and he took off the shirt and pushed down the trousers—though he was usually the more patient of the two, he chose to ignore it. Ron grinned, and not much later they were both naked, Draco completely bare on the table with Ron between his legs.

"We should really stop doing this in weird places." Ron commented, carefully pushing the blonde's legs further apart, letting his hand slide between his warm thighs.

"We have to stop doing this period." Draco grunted, tipping his head back in pleasure.

"What?" Ron stopped immediately, and Draco groaned.

"You know what I mean," he said impatiently, taking Ron's hand in his own and bringing it to his thigh again—he felt Ron shiver at the touch, leaning closer into his body. "It's always rushed and hurried—and you rip my clothes most of the time."

"Well maybe you should just stop wearing clothes—I sorta like it when you're naked." Ron chuckled, kissing his neck and touching against Draco's flushed skin.

"Oh shut up and _fuck me_ already," Draco moaned hotly and his cheeks got a bit red—he really liked things like this, but the noises Ron forced from his lips were quite disgraceful. "You know how horny wood makes me." The pun was completely unintentional, but Ron sniggered.

"Fine—but next time, we have to do it someplace else." He said, before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them in.

"Yeah, yeah." Draco frowned at the slow pace the redhead wetted his fingers and rolled his eyes—_he really is such a tease._

Afterwards, when they'd caught their breath, laying in a sweating mess of limbs, Draco shrugged—because _this is exactly what I've been told not to do, and here I am._ His mother had always forbid him to give in to simple wants of the flesh, definitely when it came to boys. She obviously judged her son by standards of what she knew about her husband—in her head, and there alone, homosexuality was inherited, and she'd be damned if she let her boy end up with another man. Even if the ancient family stated sex wasn't relevant with love.

They managed to get up, wobbly and unstable, dressing as properly as they could. And Ron was grinning the entire time, even when he noticed a button was missing from his shirt. They walked through the hallways in silence, afraid to wake someone, but Draco noticed their hands sometimes locked, and Ron's thumb caressed his palm sometimes. When they reached Ron's room, Ron suddenly stopped—the door was opened slightly, and Hermione was asleep on his bed, in her nightshirt.

Draco released the redhead's hand and glared at the floor—he could've known really. What had he expected? Ronald's mother hated his guts, she loved Granger. _I'm so naïve._

"I guess I'll be going than." Draco shrugged off the sickening feeling in his stomach, thinking that maybe _it's just for the sex but he doesn't really like me and..._

"Draco wait," Ron stopped him. "Please, just wait. I'll get rid of her and—"

"And _what_?"

"Just let me prove that I don't like her that way," Draco grunted, pulling away. "Please?"

Despite the aching he felt, he nodded, hiding in the room across Ron's. Ron gave him a peck to his cheek before going over to his door.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" He asked loudly, waking the brunette.

She yawned, and turned, sitting up slightly.

"Ron!" she blinked when she noticed who had woken her. "Finally! Where have you been?"

"I needed a drink," Ron lied, frowning. "Why are you here?"

"I need to ask you something," she rubbed her eyes, reminding herself of the reason she was there. "It's rather important."

"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" Ron asked, helping her off his bed. "I'm really tired 'mione. I promise you can ask in the morning."

She sighed and nodded, smiling before leaving the room. When she'd turned the corner, Draco came out from hiding, kissed Ron quickly and left too, going down the hall the other way.

He felt Ron's eyes on his back the entire time, and Draco thought that maybe Ron just couldn't stop himself from coming back for more—and part of him found that idea pretty appealing yet oddly _familiar_. And even when Ron compared him to a spoiled rich prince, and he let Draco call him the poor peasant—he really couldn't care less, because no one had ever made him feel the way Ron did.

**AN****1: I'm planning on a mpreg in this story—I just don't know yet whether to give Draco a brother/sister, or a kid :D So help me decide on that! And let me know if this chapter was any good!**

**AN2: talking about woollen socks when you're in Spain is soooo much fun :D Definitely when there's a pool right next to you :D**

**AN3: next up: there will be a full lemon—sorry to all you sensitive readers, but there will be sex and it will be explicit! So hurry up and review to stimulate the lovely Crazy4Moony into updating (winks)**


	7. Love and Hate

Love and Hate

**AN: I present you with a very emotional and schmooshy Draco—and it's no schmooshy-rub-off from Ron! Nope, all Draco-schmooshy :D And also: two of the scenes from this chapter are hard M, so beware for the sex that will be explicit!**

**Also, to: kittenonabroomstick: I was planning on making Sirius a pregnant bitch :D So he could nag since Remus only tops one out of three times—he'd go on and on about it, seriously—but apparently most people want our teenagers to have kids so: major dilemma.**

**AN: I noticed all of you kinda suddenly realised Harry isn't there. Well, too bad, Harry's dead. Coughcough—no seriously, I didn't mean that. Darn, I'd hate to slay Harry off—I wanna see his stupid face when he realises his best friend is shagging his arch nemeses **_**good**_**—let's give Ron some credit eh? Now, for real: after the holiday they're starting their sixth year at Hogwarts. After the fourth year, you'll remember Harry came in a bit later, right? So, I'm pretending that Harry's being left alone at the Dudley's for a month or so :D Evil me. So, not to fret, he'll be there soon—Ahoy! On to the chapter!**

When Draco came down the next morning he felt Molly's eyes on his back the entire time. He entered the kitchen in his pyjama's, the maroon short riding low on his hips, and was greeted by Sirius jumping on him. Spluttering he hugged the overenthusiastic man back. Misses Weasley usually said hi and asked him about his night—now she ignored him completely. But whatever, _if she wants to be that way, fine._

"Good morning?" Draco tried, but Molly didn't reply. Draco chuckled, murmuring: "great. Now I'm being ignored by the mother."

Sirius gave him a sympathetic look—of course he'd heard about Molly and Arthur's response to their son's revelation—he felt quite sorry for the blonde. He knew how sucky it was to have the parents against you. Remus' parents didn't like him at all in the beginning, so he could relate.

But when Molly set the frying pan down on the table with a loud '_clunk_'—the twins, Ginny and Hermione jumped, looking at her in surprise, while Ron frowned at his mother—and glared at Draco, Sirius _really_ felt bad for him.

"You," Molly hissed, and Sirius wanted to stop her from saying anything, but couldn't. "Corrupted my boy!"

"I didn't do a thing," Draco snapped. "_You_'re the sex-addict! Seven children, and then I'm the one who corrupts your son?" Molly blushed a deep red and Sirius' mouth dropped—just like Ginny's, and the twins sniggered softly. "You're insane Misses, and now I'd appreciate it if you didn't yell at me."

She gave him a last look before scampering off. Draco rolled his eyes, and Sirius opened his mouth.

"Don't say it," the blonde looked at him. "I really don't need to know."

Sirius sighed and hugged Draco again, and _it feels oddly comforting._ Because fighting with your boyfriend's mother really isn't good—even_ if you're not sure how you feel about having one._

Hermione looked at Ron, and swore she'd ask about it later—she had to know what was going on, or she'd possibly die of curiosity—you know, like the cat.

--

"Draco?" Sirius asked, pushing the door open a bit. He wasn't too shocked to find that the boy was unpacking—he'd been doing that a lot these last days, and Sirius saw it as a sign that he was really accepting the loss of his parents.

"Mmm," Draco put a book on one of the stacks he was making. "Come in."

Sirius smiled and sat down on his bed, observing him before moving on with the conversation. He was busy with his literature, dividing it in school-books, novels, and children's-books—like fairytales.

"I wanted to talk to you about Molly," Sirius went on. "You have to give her some time—this isn't really what she was expecting—she always thought Ron'd end up with a girl. And if he'd go for a boy she hadn't expected it to be you."

"Yeah well, you think I just suddenly decided to fall in love with freckle-face?" Draco frowned. "No. But I got over it—_without_ yelling at myself too much."

"I know Draco," Sirius sighed. "But being the mother in such a situation is harder than being the boyfriend—definitely when the boyfriend is you. You've always been strong about things like this."

"Fine," Draco got up. "I'll be nice to her—I still have the purse. Maybe I can try to bribe her."

Sirius laughed and nodded, saying: "you should do that. Maybe it'll actually _work_."

Draco gave him a smile, and went over to his closet, deciding that yes, _maybe I should bribe the mother—after all, Ron is really good to me, I should do my best to love the parents._

After he'd gotten out the purse, he left the room together with Sirius. Sirius went to his own room, and Draco went down the stairs. When he entered the kitchen, he saw that Molly was back, doing the dishes. Ginny and Hermione were still there, talking about some magazine, but they looked up as he entered.

"Misses Weasley," Draco leaned on the counter next to her. "I want to offer my apologies. I shouldn't have called you and your husband sex-addicts. I'm hardly one to talk, really," she looked up, looking at him in question—_okay, that was a dirty pun. I should try to behave._ "And if I did, somehow, corrupt your son in any way, I'm sorry about it. But if this is your idea of corruption I have to say that I'm going to continue to corrupt him in the future."

"Mister Malfoy," Molly started in her I'm-your-mother-therefore-your-boss tone. "I don't know what you think an apology is, but that certainly wasn't it."

"Oh, I see," Draco nodded. "I think there's a misunderstanding here—you think I'm going to apologise for what you call corrupting your son?" she nodded. Ginny and Hermione exchanged a look. "But I'm not—when I said 'apologise' I meant about the sex-addict thing. Please accept this gift as prove of my sincere regrets." He handed her the purse.

"You... you're not going to stop, are you?" Molly asked, looking down at the gift—_she sounds like she talking about a serial killer, for Merlin's sake!_

Draco shook his head, offering her a small smile.

"Nope. But don't worry—I'm really not that awful," he took one of her dishes and a towel. "I have all this good things going for me. I'm an orphan, which means no nasty relatives to deal with," he started drying the plate. _Yeah, joke about your dead parents. Haha. Bastard_—he tried to ignore he'd just scolded at himself, and continued with the list. "I'm blonde, which means everyone thinks I'm stupid—that naturally makes me look smarter," Ginny shrugged and Hermione frowned. "I'm exceedingly handsome," at this Ron entered the kitchen, giggling at his next comment: "and a Malfoy—therefore known as a sex-God."

"You're promoting yourself to my mother?" Ron said in disbelief, flopping down next to Hermione. "What is this Malfoy, the Chippendales?"

"Oh shut it Weasel," Draco stuck out his tongue, taking a new plate. "I'm convincing your mother of my many qualities."

"And of course," Ginny grinned. "Our mother really needs to know about your abilities in bed."

"Indeed she does," Draco nodded sincerely. "It's really half of my charm—the fact that you know how _great_ I fu—"

"That's enough!" Molly interrupted. "Thank you mister Malfoy, for the wonderful speech, and the purse—I'm sorry I shouted at you, but please, watch your mouth."

"I'm sorry. I won't say fuck anymore," Draco grinned and Ginny laughed. "Fuck, now I said it again."

Molly glared, and left again—though Draco couldn't help chuckling as he continued drying the dishes. Upsetting Molly was just _too much_ fun.

"What was your argument about, anyways?" Ginny asked suddenly, looking up at the blonde.

Draco tipped up an eyebrow—_what should I say?_—and put the dry plate down. He felt a little strain in his elbow, and knew it was still purple—even though Ron had yet to notice.

"About a fight your brother and I had." He said simply, hoping it would suffice—he didn't have to badmouth Ron unless it was absolutely necessary, _after all, he treats me well and doesn't insult me either_.

"Oh and what—" Ginny cut short when Draco dropped a plate, his elbow twitching mercilessly.

He dropped through his knees from the sheer _pain_ of the impact, growling darkly at anything that would listen. Ron was to his feet in no time, grasping Draco to help him up.

"What's wrong?" He asked worried, but Draco pushed him away.

"Don't touch me, stupid prick," he was pissed off and in pain—no way he'd let Ron get close. Now was a time to badmouth because the boy didn't even realise how badly he'd hurt him. "It's _your_ fault to begin with!"

"What?" Ron frowned, putting his hands in his side.

"Remember when I was 'invading your breathing space'?" Draco spat, scrambling to his feet. "You fucking bruised my elbow, insensitive sod!"

"Insensitive? You didn't tell me you were hurt!"

"Well you were too busy thinking about your dick to notice!" Draco threw a wet plate at him, before storming out of the kitchen.

--

This was not the right time for this, Draco _knew_—but it couldn't be helped. He was pissed at Ron, and now he'd have to be alone with the Weasleys. But seriously—it wasn't anyone's fault Remus would become a werewolf that night, and Draco really wanted Sirius to be able to take care of him. So he said goodbye to them after breakfast, kissing their cheeks and hugging Remus extra-tight—he told him he hoped he'd be okay, and told Sirius to take good care of him—he meant both of it, because he'd grown so fond of them, he _hated_ to think of them in pain.

After he'd waved them off, he went into the living room. Remus had borrowed him a nice squeally novel that Draco was dying to read—he might as well do so now, since he had nothing better to do.

He'd just made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, curling himself up, when Ron entered the room. Draco ignored him but he went over, kissing his cheek—to Draco's surprise: he usually bribed him into talking when he was angry, afraid Draco would hit him—and going over to the table where he'd left his chessboard.

"Hermione wants to play chess," he explained, though Draco hadn't asked. The blonde tipped up his eyebrow curiously—_he has to be up to something._ "Are you having fun?"

Draco just frowned and Ron chuckled, going over to the door—though he kissed Draco's cheek on his way out once more. The blonde was left alone in utter confusion, _what the hell was that?_

--

It was far past midnight when Draco's bedroom door suddenly opened. He was sitting on the bed, reading Remus' novel, and freaked slightly until he noticed the red hair and the familiar auburn pyjamas—_maybe now I'll find out what the niceness earlier was all about._ Ronald shot him a grin, carrying a white plastic bottle. Muttering something Draco noted he locked the door and sealed it with a silence-spell. Then he went to the bathroom without commenting or saying hi, which made Draco frown as he sat up straight. He waited—_not so _patiently—for Ron to return and when he did, his frown grew and he crawled over to the end of the bed.

"Undress." Ron said and handed him the white towel he had brought from the bathroom. The redhead quickly pecked Draco on the lips and flopped down next to him.

"Excuse me?" Draco tipped up his eyebrow in disbelief, the typical Malfoy-sarcasm drawling through—he decided not to be angry with the redhead anymore, but _instead I can just question his sanity._

"You can dress in the towel," Ron pointed at the white fabric. "Come on."

"What on earth would I do that for?" He looked down at it in distaste, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Just do it—otherwise I can't thank you for being nice to my mother."

Now, that changed the situation quite a bit. Any gift that involved him naked had to be good. So he quickly got up, undid his shirt, and draped the towel around his waist before disposing of his boxers.

"That looks really bad," Ron said, inspecting the purple elbow. Draco nodded, and the redhead reached out to pull him onto the bed again. "I'll make you feel better. Lie down on your stomach."

Draco did as he was told—though with a small frown still present. He had no idea what Ron was up to, and though he _knew_ Ron wouldn't hurt him it frightened him a bit. He was even more surprised when Ron himself stripped down to his underwear. Then he sat down on Draco's legs and took the white bottle. He heard the cork being undone and sniffed—an eucalyptus sent filled the air.

Ron poured some of the oil on his hand, focussing on the given task. He rubbed his palms together, warming the liquid before carefully moving against Draco's pale back. The boy relaxed immediately and gave a content purr when Ron started on his tense shoulders. Feeling the positive reaction to his treatment Ron smiled, and fully indulged himself in massaging the lithe body underneath him.

Draco closed his eyes, surrendering to the feeling of Ron's hands on his body. He was really making him feel amazing—the slick movement's against his back, teasing down his sides. These touches were usually rough and uncoordinated and meant to make you go _ohohohohoh!_—and even though he _loved_ erratic moves, these were great too.

When he was done with the blonde's back, the oil leaving a sheen layer on the marble skin, he told Draco to turn around and started on his chest. He noticed the boy had closed his eyes, mouth opened slightly in bliss—and as goofy as he might feel, it made him smile widely. After his chest he started on the legs, first the left one, then the right. Reaching the towel he suddenly shifted uncomfortably, his hands settling on the blonde's knee.

Draco noticed the change in his behaviour, and opened an eye realising he was nervously ogling the towel—_is he seriously scared to see me naked?_ He chuckled and Ron looked down—seeing the smile on the otherwise serious face made him smile again too, and he slipped his hand between Draco's thighs. His other hand worked the towel away and Draco closed his eyes—he knew Ron would now be fully aware of how much he'd been enjoying those hands on his skin, and was surprised when he felt soft lips on his jaw.

Ron's hand continued his work, his thumb putting pressure against the taut muscles as he kissed his way down Draco's neck softly. _He's never been this sweet to me—it's never been so slow and soft._ The redhead's hand sneaked higher, between his buttocks and Draco groaned softly—he tried to not make too much noise, but he could only imagine how good this was going to be, and it was already driving him insane. One hand held up his leg, continuing to caress his thigh as he entered a finger in the blonde's body. Draco fisted the sheets and his thighs quivered as he fought to keep as still as possible. He was used to this, yet it felt slightly odd in the beginning—_even if it always makes me want to cry out for him again and again._

He moved his finger in and out, crocking it slightly every time again. When Draco's whole form shook and lifted off the bed, he kissed his knee—caressing it and keeping it against his hip—and slipped a second digit in, using the warm oil as lubricant. His kisses stayed on Draco's face, _burning_ against his flesh and leaving invisible marks forever. His hands were warm on the blonde's knee and inside his body, sizzling and searing making him _Ron_'s—and _maybe it's a good thing_. Draco bit his lip to keep himself from making noise, but silent purrs and little moans still escaped, urging Ron on. He scissored his fingers, and inserted a third one, causing Draco's chest to heave and his breath to hitch. Ron paused, shifting between Draco's legs more comfortably, attaching his lips to the boy's thigh in distraction. When Draco gave another low groan, Ron moved his fingers again, kissing his temple.

Draco's eyes rolled back when Ron pulled the digits out, and he leaned his body closer to the blonde's, pulling his boxers off. He wrapped his legs around Ron's back, his thighs clamping against Ron's tanned hips for leverage. When the redhead pushed against him he started shaking all over, a shock beginning at his spine and running up, as his thighs too shook from the impact. Ron applied more oil and easily entered, shifting and burying himself completely in one go. Draco's chest was pounding and Ron watched in fascination at his face. He was biting his lip again, eyes dark and glittering, staring up at Ron. He put a hand against Ron's stomach, his other one roving over his back.

Ron smiled down, before kissing the corner of his mouth and moving slowly in and out of him. Draco tried not to make a sound—_we're supposed to be stoic,_ but it wasn't helping because Ron's loving was so _good_, and he hit all the right spots, making all the hairs on his body rise, tingling his nerves' ends.

"Ro—ron," Draco said quietly, arching his chest closer to the other's form. Ron's eyes were still on him, and he wiped some hair from the blonde's forehead. "Why are you so gentle?"

He didn't mean it as rejection, because it was actually _perfect for me_.

"You don't like it?" Ron stopped his lazy thrusts, leaning up on his elbows.

"No, it's really nice." Draco admitted, hoping he would start his movements again.

"This is good?" Ron asked still somewhat unsure.

Draco nodded, and as if to prove his point he mewled hoarsely when Ron started thrusting his hips again. He kept going at a slow pace, making love to the blonde gently. He took Draco as softly as he could, hoping to make it as fantastic as possible. Draco's hands kept on moving against his chest and back, and his moans got louder as he neared his completion.

Ron kissed his jaw again, his hands on the other's thighs. They were sweaty against his own hips but he stroked them, coaxing the blonde closer to the edge. He loved the way it made the lithe body arch and shake. And the noises Draco made were heaven to his ears, prove that this was really as good to Draco as it was to Ron. The room was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and sweat, the sounds of their lovemaking filling the air.

"Ron I..." Draco huffed suddenly—he needed to say it, even if he was scared to. He'd been thinking about it and he just had to say it—he'd made his mind up and Ron needed to know. Even though he thought the world might just _end_ if he'd tell Ron what was in his head, he had to—_because he's _

_making this perfect, just for me, so that has to mean something._ Ron smiled, kissing him softly before letting one of his hands reach down between their bodies. He carefully stroked over the pale groin, touching Draco's flushed flesh and the blonde moaned loudly, eyes closing immediately. He was so close but... _I can't_—he opened his eyes again, trying to regain some breath, as he locked his gaze with Ron's. "_I love you._"

And behold, the world did not end. He had expected Ron to leave, to yell and pull away. No galaxies were ending and he could feel his heart _stop_ because Ron's smile just grew. He let his body rest on top of Draco's as he continued moving inside of him. He brought his mouth to Draco's ear, hand moving over the blonde's length.

"I love you too." He whispered, lips touching the shell—and Draco came undone.

He'd never known how much impact those words could have on him—even Ron was surprised—as he gasped loudly, eyes rolling back and lips parting. He forced Ron's body down on his own completely, shaking and shivering violently as he came hard. The shudders drew through his body even after his climax, and he couldn't help but call Ron's name—screaming his lungs out to make it more _real_. And he started sobbing as soon as his voice stilled, tears leaking down his cheeks. All he wanted to do was curl up and sink away from the world, but at the same time he wanted Ron between his thighs _forever_.

The sound of his name ripping from the blonde's rosy lips pulled Ron over the edge too, and he groaned against Draco's shoulder, moaning his name. They trembled together, bodies worn and spent. Ron heard Draco's silent sniffles and turned on his side, pulling out carefully. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep, but he didn't want to leave Draco when he was so emotionally drained.

"Don't cry Love," he whispered, voice still hoarse. He wrapped his arms around Draco's quivering form protectively. "It's okay."

"It's not," Draco protested, burying his head in the sweaty chest. "I'm not _supposed_ to love you. If my aunt found out she'd—"

"But you're not with your aunt now," Ron kissed his head softly, trying to get him to look up. "You're with us and this is right. Please don't cry. I hate to think I left you so hurt."

"You didn't, it was really..." he rubbed his cheek against the redhead. "But what about your mother?" Draco asked, sniffling still.

"Don't worry about her," he shrugged, wiping the tears from his face, and Draco finally looked up at him. "I'm sure you convinced her of your many talents, definitely with your reputation as sex-God."

Draco laughed too, a last sob leaving his body.

"That was a joke."

"I disagree." Ron grinned sheepishly, and Draco laughed again, putting his hands against Ron's chest.

"Oh really?" He questioned. "What's so good than?"

"About everything," Ron kissed his forehead affectionately. "I love the way your legs shake when I touch you there," he suddenly whispered huskily, mood changing from loving to seductive—his hand going down to Draco's buttocks, sliding between them. And indeed, his thighs started quivering uncontrollably. "And the way they tighten around me when I enter," Draco gasped at his comment, kissing one of his nipples and closing his eyes. He really loved everything about the redhead. _From his voice to the hand on my thigh._ "All those lovely noises you make, and the way I know I'm the first ever to see you like this, panting and sweating and completely exposed and vulnerable, just for _me_," Draco's blue eyes wandered up to Ron's face, and he noticed Ron was smiling down at him. "I love the way I know I'm the first to ever make you feel like this. The first one to touch your pale skin and get you to cry out in that special way you do," he turned on his back, pulling the smaller body on top of his own. "I just love you—that's what makes it perfect."

"Ron," Draco's voice was still a bit hoarse—and he was afraid again, because even though Ron loved him, that did not mean he wanted what Draco did. "Please, will you stay for the night?"

"I'd love to," he closed his eyes, making himself more comfortable—his body was hot, and there was another hot body on top of his own and everything was just _hot_. It would be stifling, if it wasn't the good kind of hot, that makes your body tingle because you've just been in heaven. "I though you'd never ask."

Draco grinned, now completely confident that _this is good, and we're in love, nothing can take this away._ He sat up, straddling the sweaty, tanned hips, and fanning some cool air to his face. His whole body had a red blush to it, due to Ron's fine lovemaking.

"I'm gonna get some sparkling water," he said, getting from the boy's lap. "Do you want some too?"

Ron shook his head tiredly, and Draco sought some boxers to put on—even though everyone would be asleep, he didn't want to go around walking naked: what if some of the death relatives were still awake? He noticed that it was almost morning already, and vaguely wondered how Remus was—_full moon is long gone by now, would he have hurt himself a lot?_—though he dismissed the thought, knowing Sirius was taking care of him.

Before he could pull up the underwear, Ron took his hand, kissing it at the knuckles—his eyes were still closed, and he murmured: "come back soon, okay?"

"Sure." Draco smiled, kissing the redhead's temple.

He took a handkerchief, cleaning his stomach—it had some come on it—as good as he could. When he left his room he noticed it weren't his own boxers he'd put on, but shrugged it off—they were rather cute, though a bit loose around his hips. Deep red with a chibby lion-face at the seam, it was quite funny. He got himself a cooled glass of water, and was about to go back to his room when the door opened—turning around, he feared for his life, when he noticed it were... _Sirius and Remus?_

Sirius was whispering things in Remus' ear, and Draco noticed in distress that Remus could barely stand on his feet. He was wearing Sirius' robe and the raven had put a blanket around him.

"Remus!" Draco went to help out the two men, wondering what had gone wrong. "What happened?"

Sirius shook his head, doing his best to keep the brunette stable—_something must've happened._ They carried him up the stairs together, his knees sometimes giving way. When they reached Sirius' room, they got him in bed, and Draco watched perplex—glass still in his hand—as Sirius undressed the younger man carefully, and gave him warm pyjamas, tucking him in and kissing his face all the while. Remus appeared to be having some sort of fever—though Draco guessed it was just a side-effect—and was sweating, though shivering and dead asleep.

"Sirius, what happened?" Draco questioned again, his voice shaking slightly. "Why are you back so soon?"

"Greyback found us," Sirius rubbed his forehead in exhaustion. Draco gasped, and helped him get in bed too—it was only now that he noticed the rips in Sirius' clothes. He pulled off his shirt as he continued: "we had to run for it—it was too dangerous to stay in the forest where we went before. Next time we'll have to travel to Hogwarts. It's not safe here anymore—they know where we are, just not how to get in."

"Is there anything I can do to help? Will you be okay? And what about Remus?" He trailed off nervously, _just my luck, one thing starts going great, and the other half of my new family gets hurt._ He realised once more how off his old relatives had been—and part of him wanted to be mad at his father for making so many mistakes, but he couldn't, because _dad tried_.

"Draco, it's okay," Sirius smiled, tugging off his jeans. He hugged the boy, cradling him softly. "It will be okay, please don't worry. Go back to Ronald—we'll be fine."

"I...—how did you know?" He stuttered, muttering against the man's tangled hair.

"I doubt there's anyone else that would let you wear their Gryffindor underwear," he grinned slightly, releasing him. "Go back to bed," but when Draco didn't leave he petted his shoulder. "Will it make you feel better if I let you wake us up in the morning," Draco nodded. "It's a deal than," he kissed Draco's cheek, and Draco smiled, going to the door. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Draco left—he was still worried, but there wasn't anything for him to do.

When he entered the bedroom again, slipping inside with the glass in his hand, Ron had turned on his stomach, the blanket pushed back to the end of the bed. Draco grinned at the boy's beautiful body, his skin still shining with a layer of sweat, his legs opened a bit.

"What took you so long?" Ron muttered, not looking up. He pushed some red hair from his face, turning it to where Draco stood.

"Remus and Sirius are back—something happened and I helped Sirius get Remus upstairs," he sat the water down, straddling Ron's legs and leaning over, putting his head between the tanned shoulder blades. Ron made a noise in the back of his throat, hand snaking around to put it against Draco's hip. "I don't know whether to hate my dad for making all the wrong choices. It's so hard to decide what to feel."

"What?" Ron frowned slightly, opening his eyes—he tried to look at Draco's face, but since he was lying on his back he couldn't.

"I'm asking you how I should feel—I've never lost my parents before. I don't know what to do now." Draco muttered, kissing some of the soft skin—_it's a bit salty, and so Ron-ish._

And part of him _really_ wanted to be mad at his father—for Remus was hurt and hadn't his father been pro those that did this to him? Had he not been there himself, evil and constantly ruin the good things families had coming? But how could he hate his father, when he'd always been so _good_ to him?

"Your father loved you," Ron said, completely confident of that fact—he might not have liked the man, but he hadn't known him well either. One thing he'd always been sure of was Lucius' love for his son though. "I'm sure he did whatever he thought was best for you—you love him too. You'll never be able to hate him, because you know he cared for you. Even if he made the wrong decisions—we all make mistakes Drake," Ron felt the silent tears on his skin, and petted the hip lovingly, wanting to turn—he knew it would upset the boy if he did so suddenly, so he didn't. "It's okay to be confused or angry, and no one's going to blame you for being sad, but can you please let me hold you?"

He heard the blonde sniffle, and the weight slowly moved off him. Ron turned around, and Draco immediately crawled on top of him again, burying his head in his chest. He rolled himself up slightly, entwining one of their legs, and Ron softly cradled him, stroking a hand through his blonde hair. Draco sobbed, not really crying—it were more some lost tears falling, and some old sobs leaving. Ron still held him close, closing his eyes.

"I want your sweater," Draco suddenly sniffed, drying his eyes. Ron frowned—he hadn't been wearing his sweater, just an old pyjama-shirt. "It's under my pillow." The blonde explained, and Ron reached over, searching—and indeed.

He extracted the old sweater Draco had '_confiscated until further notice_', chuckling.

"You kept this?" He thought the Slytherin would have dumped it ages ago—helping him into the woollen Weasley-clothing he grinned at the puffy-eyed boy.

"It smells like you." Draco said, inhaling deeply to prove his point.

Then they lay down again, Ron's cooling body being completely covered by Draco's reheated one. He fell asleep soon, though Draco's blue eyes stared outside the window for a long time after.

--

When Draco woke up he felt slightly sticky—his ass felt weird, and he remembered he hadn't properly cleaned after sex. His chest was icky too, but only a bit. Ron had a dried up white spot on his stomach and Draco sniggered. He yawned and got up, deciding now was a good time to bring Remus and Sirius some tea—Ron was still dead asleep, so they could shower together later.

Feeling a bit sentimental he kissed the redhead's ear—the boy purred softly, turning to him.

"Ronald, I'm going down and I'm wearing your sweater," Ron nodded, kissing Draco's hand when the boy petted his cheek. "Irritating questions will be asked to you later."

"'s okay, you look hot, so let them nag." Ron gave him a groggy grin and Draco felt an urge to blush—_he always says it like he means it and it's great_—then left for the kitchen.

When he entered the room he made it a point not to make eye-contact—he would just get tea and ignore all the people. This went rather okay—until _people_ began to notice his outfit for real, and until _Charlie and Bill_ noticed it was the lovely blonde. He didn't even realise they were there—due to the not-making-eye-contact, otherwise he would've greeted them—and got out two cups.

"Don't we get a hello-kiss?" Charlie mocked and Draco's head shot up.

He grinned when he noticed that the two oldest Weasleys were in the kitchen, ignored the twins' shocked glares and Hermione's frown, and went over to peck the men on the cheek. Molly looked absolutely furious—she was the only one realising that the blonde was wearing her son's underwear, all the others were just confused with the red colour of his clothes, and the fact that he wore Ron's 'confiscated' sweater.

"We were just debating whether you have a boyfriend or girlfriend." Bill wiggled his eyebrows—Fred's frown grew, he thought Malfoy looked very post-sex, but sex with _who_? Surely not... no, it couldn't be Ron, so he quickly abandoned the idea, shivering at the mental-images.

"Are you insinuating that he's gay?" Ginny laughed.

"No, they're insinuating that I'm in love with a boy," Draco glared at the redheaded girl. "I just have a secret lover, that's all," Draco winked at the oldest brothers, going back to his cups. He took the teapot. "He's really cute with broad shoulders and beautiful hair and a _really_ nice ass."

"Or, you're mocking us," Charlie tipped up an eyebrow. "You're such a tease, mister Malfoy."

"I've been told, mister Weasley." Draco replied, pouring the cups. He counted the sugar—_Remus likes four lumps and Sirius six_—he knew it was insane to remember, but still.

"Aha, so you definitely have a boyfriend!" Bill said triumphantly. "Girls don't tell their boys they're a tease."

"Actually, Blaise says I'm a cock-tease when I'm pretending to be in love with him," Draco shrugged, taking a spoon. "But he's my best friend, not my boyfriend."

He scratched the back of his leg with his foot, the boxers riding up a bit—they really were too big—as he stirred the cups. Bill and Charlie shared a look, grins on their faces.

"So you're just going to keep avoiding our question than?" Charlie asked.

"I'm not avoiding questions," Draco said innocently picking up his cups and heading out. "It just so happens that it's none of your business."

He went up the stairs, and when he reached Sirius' room he pushed the door opened with his foot and elbow, turning the doorknob down. He did his best not to look at the frame with his father in, greeting Sirius, who was sitting up straight in bed. Remus was still asleep, and arm posed around Sirius' hips as he used the man's lap as pillow. Draco handed them the tea, pecking Sirius' cheek as a good-morning, afraid that _if I make a sound, Remus might wake up._

Sirius gratefully took the cup, stroking Remus' arm softly. Draco noticed the scratches and swallowed the lump in his throat—_how am I supposed to love my father when he took part in all the bad things they ever did?_—heading back out. He mouthed an 'I'll come back later' and Sirius nodded, giving him a weak wink. Draco knew he was doing his best to make him feel better, and _it's nice of him to try_.

--

Draco was almost asleep again, Ron's naked body spooning close against his own clothed one, when he heard the door open. He could feel Ron's head turn and feared for their lives—_surely those retarded twins didn't..._—and the bed tipped a bit down at the end.

"Mu—mum?" Ron stuttered and Draco did his best not to gasp.

"It's okay Ron," Draco heard her voice, soft and caring—_maybe she's okay._ He felt a hand on top of the blanket, and knew she thought she was touching her son's leg, though she was touching Draco's. "I haven't come to scold at you. We realise we haven't been too fair with you lately. I know how hard it is for you to find out who you really are—with being one of the youngest, and having five older brothers it can hardly be that easy," the hand stroked against Draco's leg softly—_and how long has it been since my mum did that?_ "I know there is hardly anything you have that is truly yours, and that's not nice of us—we want to apologise, but it's hard."

"Mum, you really don't have to—" Ron began, and Draco could hear the _sorry_ in his voice—he wanted to kiss the redhead and make it better, but Molly interrupted.

"Now please, it's quite alright. I just wanted to come up and tell you this. We'll let you have Draco," and he wanted to die and scream for _have I ever been this happy? Ever?_ He felt Ron's hands tighten around his waist, possessively holding him closer. "Though you've been warned—if he hurts you in any way, I will personally cut off his balls."

Draco made a little 'eep!' sound, and Ron laughed—partly because of his mother's words, but also because he knew the blonde had been listening.

"Now Drake, it's not polite to eavesdrop." Ron chuckled against his ear, and Draco grunted, opening his eyes—_Molly just threatened to castrate me! Insane, the whole lot!_

Yet she was smiling brightly when their eyes locked. She stood, kissing both of their foreheads, before leaving without another word. When Draco looked up Ron was grinning down at him like a madman—_so typical_—though he couldn't help the happy smile from forming on his own face.

--

"Sex is really dirty." Draco said pensively.

There was dried-up come on his stomach and between his ass—it felt really sticky, and though it came off easily under the hot water of the shower, it still felt a bit odd.

"Actually, it's really good." Ron answered, kissing the pale shoulder—he rubbed fiercely at his own stomach, cleaning himself with a bar of soap.

Draco merely grunted, _really_, he couldn't quite contradict the redhead. He looked for another sponge, not sure there was one. He knew he had some sponges in the boxes from his house, but apparently Ron had taken the only one that was to be found in the bathroom. He tapped his foot and stared at said boy, who remained blissfully unaware of the fact that he'd stolen Draco's washcloth.

"Ron, give me back the sponge," Draco glared, eventually shaking the redhead from his thoughts—he'd been standing there with his eyes closed, enjoying the water's stream. "I feel sticky. I _need_ it."

"Hmm." he opened his eyes, and moved closer.

Draco eyed him suspiciously wondering what he was up to—then Ronald kissed his shoulder, and started washing his back. The blonde really wanted to protest, but then again, he was getting cleaned, and those marvellous hands were moving over his thighs—_how can I object?_ When Ron's hands moved over his ass, running in between to remove his own semen Draco started trembling.

"Stop that." He growled darkly, posing his hands against the slick tiled wall to keep from falling.

"What?" Ron asked innocently, sliding the fabric over Draco's bum again. "I'm _helping_ you."

"You're making me hot, stupid bastard." Draco grunted, pushing himself away from the wall.

He wheeled around, pulling the washcloth from Ron's hands. Throwing his arm around the surprised redhead he connected their lips in a searing kiss meshing their wet bodies together.

"That's kinda the point." Ron whispered between their kisses—he tried to get Draco trapped against the wall, but the blonde didn't budge.

Draco separated their mouths and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. _Oh really? Let's see how he'd like it._ He attacked the tanned neck and forced Ron's body to the wall—much like he'd tried seconds ago—trailing down his chest. He heard the boy's breath hitch and grinned. By the feel of his cock against Draco's hand he was positive Ron was turned on. _Very_ positive.

He heard a raspy moan from above him and dropped through his knees, licking at the cute bellybutton. He followed the soft patch of coppery hair, his free hand moving up to his hip to keep him in place. Then he took the pink tip in his mouth and he had to press the boy harder against the wall—he was so close to tumbling down.

Draco revelled in the sound of his own name falling from Ron's lips in a mutter of curses and swears. He remembered why he liked being in control so much—forcing Ron to whimper like that was incredible. Though bottoming for the red was nowhere _near_ bad either—_it's the best I've ever felt_—and being in control and being dominated were two very different things, but Draco loved both of them. Being pleasured was just as good as pleasuring and he would never get enough of _any_ of the noises Ron made. Whether it was when he was on his knees or when Ron was on his own. It didn't matter.

He ran his tongue up slowly, grazing his teeth over the soft flesh. When he took the whole length in his mouth Ron groaned loudly, his hips bucking with a will of their own. Draco pushed them against the wall harder, and heard Ron's fingers scratch against the tiles, looking for something to hold on to. He continued to bob his head in a steady pace and slid one hand over Ron's thigh, caressing the soft skin—it made Ron arch his back against the tiles, squirming in an uncomfortable angle to get the blonde to hurry up. But Draco was quite enjoying the teasing—_that'll teach him to turn me on like that!_—and carelessly hummed a happy tune. Ron's strong legs shivered dangerously and Draco decided that maybe he'd teased enough—he could hardly hold the boy up anymore. His voice was still chanting all sorts of nonsensical things, filling the hot air as Draco's mouth moved over his shaft—_he's kind of cute when he swears,_ Draco thought and looked up at Ron's face.

The boy's eyes were wide, his lips parted as he continued muttering. When he realised Draco was looking at him he locked their gazes, trying to grin but failing. Draco drew his lips back to the tip and when he blew softly Ron threw his head back—_auw, doesn't that hurt?_—and came with a loud moan, calling out the blonde's name.

Draco muttered in dissatisfaction at the sudden outburst—he hadn't felt it coming and most of Ron's semen had managed to avoid the blonde's mouth. He brought his lips to Ron's stomach, cleaning him up and pulled away, releasing his hips. Ron's legs gave way on him, and he slid down the damp tiles to the floor.

He was panting hard and his eyes were a bit unfocused. Draco grinned at his bedazzled look, flopping down next to him as he licked his lips—Ron tasted rather nice. Shuffling around for a moment Ron decided that leaning against his lover's body would be a good move, and he closed his eyes. Draco wrapped an arm around his shoulder and felt Ron's lip kiss his skin sweetly.

"Don't tease again," he whispered, Ron's defences completely broken down. He was post-orgasmic-state: for all he cared Draco was exclaiming the world was about to explode. "Or I'll leave you undone next time."

Ron gave a small nod, too drained to even reply.

So maybe he loved him—he could totally accept that. He could handle being in love with an over-emotional, sad excuse for a human-being. He could handle being in love with _Ron_. He realised that deciding whether to hate or love his father would come a bit harder on him. Because to him, his father practically _equalled_ love. It was just that the side his father _represented_ happened to be hate.

**AN: I have to say, at first I was proud. Seriously—there were these two magnificent hours in which I was dancing around thinking about how great I did with this chapter. Then that came breaking down and I decided I could do so much better and this positively sucked. Ah, the dramatic life of a teenage writer-perfectionist. Pff. Positive attitude my ass!**

**With this I also want to apologise: I'm sure you all find it too much of a cliché... the whole 'I love you'. But they've never told each other they're in love—and it would be just like Draco, for it to have such an effect on him. So yeah, it seemed right to me.**

**Omg. Draco wants **_**sparkling**_** water. Wth? I just figured if I said 'water' you guys would freak out and think 'why doesn't he take it from the tap in the bathroom?' so I decided 'sparkling water' was my knight in shinning armour.**

**Also: How do they not get Ron is shagging Draco senseless? He was running around in the redhead's bloody underwear :o But maybe that's just because they didn't know it was his... oh, but they will soon. **_**Trust**_** me.**

**So, I'm going to ask again—and again and again—who should be getting a baby? Remus and Sirius, or Ron and Draco? Take the poll on my page if you please, it'd be of great help to me.**


	8. Purpose and Accident

8. Purpose and Accident.

**AN: Oh, Ginny likes Draco. And Draco gives his opinion about one Harry James Potter's look. Shh, that'd be just fine, if Ron wasn't present in the room at the time. And mention heads and you get a completely disgruntled Ron. Someone's gonna pay—something tells me that 'someone' is going to enjoy his payment.**

That evening they had dinner outside again—even though Sirius and Remus didn't join them, they decided it would be cosier there. Sirius came down to collect a plate for himself and Remus—the brunette was still awfully weakened, and Sirius took it upon himself to make sure Remus didn't feel lonely. Draco got to sit between Bill and Charlie, just like last time—it was even more fun. They were dying to know whether he was seeing someone, curiosity being a main Weasley-feature. Not to mention that they were the biggest teases since Blaise, which meant a lot. Draco hadn't been so cheerful in ages—because inside the house, it always felt as if he shouldn't be too cheerful, with his family hanging off the walls.

After dinner they all went to bed almost straight away—it was almost midnight by the time they'd eaten and had dessert. Draco helped Molly with the dishes—she looked absolutely exhausted, and he wasn't tired yet—and heard Ron and Hermione have a discussion in the hallway. He tried not to eavesdrop, but it was really hard when they started yelling.

"FINE RONALD!" Someone stomped up the stairs. "YOU BE THAT WAY THEN!"

"I WILL BE!" Ron yelled, and a door slammed.

He frowned in surprise staring at the plate he was cleaning, and then looked up at Molly. She gave him a smile and nodded to the door indicating that he should go see what was wrong—now, he didn't really want to, _but I really should_.

While drying his hands he went over to the living-room, to find Ron on the couch, staring angrily at the wall—_that's weird, even for his doing_. He leaned against the doorway, waiting for the redhead to notice him. When he finally realised Draco was there his eyes lit up and he grinned.

"Don't just stand there, come here," Ron beckoned him over but he tipped up an eyebrow in mockery. _He's got to be kidding—before I know it his friend storms through the door and he pushes me off the couch again_. Apparently Ron noticed his hesitation because he shifted a bit, his grin replaced with a small smile. "Don't worry—everyone's gone to bed already."

He doubted for another second, then pushed himself away from the door and walked over to the couch. Ron's grin returned as he pulled up his legs, pulling Draco in between them. He hooked his feet under the blonde's thighs and kissed his neck softly. Draco leaned back, revelling in the intimacy of the cuddle—it felt rather nice. Ron folded his hands against the blonde's lower-stomach and kissed his neck again, giving a peaceful sigh.

Draco was just about to say something when a man catcalled and he _died_ of shock.

"Rauw! Look at those two loverbirds spicing it up!" He knew that voice—_oh yes, they know now._

The door closed and a second voice said: "we knew you were taken—never knew our own little brother was the lucky bastard though!"

He heard Ron groan, and knew he was glaring at his older brothers. Opening his eyes he saw them standing there, perky-looking and pleased, _Bill and Charlie._

"Oh shut up," he frowned, leaning back into Ron's body completely—_always so warm and comfy._ "You're ruining the peaceful vibe here."

"Oh come on," Charlie flopped down next to Ron and Draco on the couch. "We mean no harm!"

"Just surprised mother didn't tell us, is all." Bill sat down on their other side, poking Ron's knee playfully.

"We asked them not to tell anyone yet," Ron warned, giving them a frown. Draco carded a hand through his hair, staying silent though the conversation as he kissed Ron's jaw. "You have to promise you won't tell anyone!"

"Of course we won't."

"You should be happy you told mom and dad first though," Bill smiled reassuringly. "They'll root for you if you tell the others—make sure the responses don't get to edgy, you know?"

"They're amazing when it comes to protecting you from angry relatives," Charlie nodded in agreement. "They'll help you through it—just don't wait too long."

"How're you planning on telling them?"

"I dunno," Ron bit his lip, hands still on Draco's stomach. "Maybe take them one by one or..."

Draco snorted. They focused on him and he peeked an eye open, staring mischievously up at the redhead.

"I think I should just have my way with you in the kitchen during breakfast. That'd make it kinda clear."

"As much as I like that idea," Ron pecked him on the lips softly, biting the lower one as he retreated. "I don't think it would be smart—they'd be darn pissed."

"What gives them the right to be pissed," Draco scoffed, crossing his arms. "Since when is deciding who you fuck a family-decision?"

"Oh, you haven't met the Weasleys properly yet," Charlie laughed. "We behave when in company—but yeah. If you fuck a Weasley, you pretty much fuck the entire family."

"Indeed. We all get to decide Draco," Bill smirked as the blonde paled slightly. "We're not _just_ a family—we're a sole entity."

"Okay, that's so over top, you freaks." Draco glared and Ron gave him another peck—Bill and Charlie just chuckled, exchanging a look.

"No it isn't. Wait until you meet the nephews and nieces."

"Uhu, you better hope they like you."

"Or you're in trouble my friend." Charlie laughed.

"Shut up," Ron glared, and gave Bill's ribs a vicious poke. "They're overreacting." He reassured Draco, and the boy scowled.

"Stupid redheads, you can't scare me," he huffed, weaving his fingers through Ron's. "I'm a Malfoy. Nothing can be more fearful than having to sit through a speech about the many benefits of an incestuous family-line."

All three of the redheads shuddered at the thought, and he grinned inwardly. _Well, that makes... four down. Six to go—though Granger and Pot-head don't count as real family._

--

"Hey," Draco smiled, carrying a tray with breakfast into the room. Remus opened his eyes, his head in Sirius' lap. "I brought food—I hope you don't mind."

Sirius smiled too, and patted the bed next to his legs, beckoning Draco to come over and sit down. Remus yawned, straightening up slightly as he stared around with hazy eyes. Draco set the plate down on the nightstand, and sat down on the bed, shifting a bit nervously.

"Thanks for the breakfast," Sirius grinned and Remus nodded faintly—he still looked extremely pale, the bags under his eyes a bit clearer then they'd been before. "I was just wondering if you already know how you're gonna tell the other about Ron and you doing it," at this Remus poked his leg insulted but Draco just smirked. "I heard Bill and Charlie talk about it."

"Well, I insisted I just snog him silly in the kitchen," Remus looked shocked at the mere idea—but Draco knew he wasn't as innocent as he looked, _he's probably jealous because he doesn't get to snog Sirius silly in the kitchen._ "But the stupid redhead wants to tell them. Like—with actual words."

Sirius shrugged and Draco handed them both tea, sipping some, Remus asked—in a small, strained voice that made Draco realise he was in more pain then he seemed to be: "so, what'll you do?"

"Nag until he agrees with me of course," Draco got up, stretching slightly. "I'm a Malfoy—we don't tell people, we make scenes."

He winked—because he knew Sirius was going to protest, telling him not to shock people too much, and he really didn't want him to. He wanted Sirius to laugh and plan the event with him. But then he realises _that's what my father used to do_, and it makes him wanna fall to the floor and cry his eyes out.

He was halfway down the hall when he heard Sirius calling for him and he turned in surprise—the man was only in his pyjama-bottoms, and looked nervous for some reason.

"What is it?" Draco asked, frowning slight—_what the hell is he so nervous about?_

"I couldn't sleep well yesterday," he said silently, looking at his feet. Draco wondered where this was going to. "And I was looking at the pictures—you know, really looking—and I noticed the one with your father on it..." he was silent for a minute and suddenly _I know_. "Draco, that day when we painted your room... you saw them kissing, didn't you?"

Draco shrugged, then nodded, saying: "kind of. I mean... I know that when he said: '_love is being able to talk about nonsensical things. It is being understood and accepted, and sometimes it is hate, but in such a way that all you want to do is touch and kiss and go back to loving.'_ He was talking about someone real special—now I know he was talking about James Potter and that's weird, because if he had the right to screw a Potter, then why would my mum make me stay away from the Weasleys?" he could feel tears form in his eyes, because really—he loved his father, but _this is in no way fair._ "It's just not _fair_ that he gets to do whatever he wants and I feel guilty every time I even _think_ about Ron."

Sirius gave him a sad smile, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"I understand, but really, it wasn't as if he did it on purpose."

"Yeah—like I didn't meant to like freckles." Draco rolled his eyes and Sirius enveloped him in a hug.

"If you want to talk about it...?" Sirius asked softly and Draco nodded.

"But not now," he freed himself from the hug, turning. "Now I need to continue unpack while sobbing through the lines as I sing off-key to old music—you go take care of Remus."

Sirius didn't say anything as the blonde left, turning a corner before letting the tears spill over his cheeks. Because it truly wasn't fair at all. _It's not fair that dad's dead and I'm alive, nor that he could've been happy and then turned out not to be because of me_—why was it he and James never stayed together? If he was so in love with the man, why didn't they just stay together? He swore and banged his fist into the wall—if his father wasn't dead already he was pretty positive he'd kill him all over, if just for confusing him again and again.

--

Draco's eyes were wet and an old Beatle song was playing when he heard someone swearing. Frowning he waited for the door to open—so okay, he was only wearing his silk boxers, and Ron's sweater again, it wasn't that bad. When no one came in and he heard voices again, his frown grew, and he got up. He'd been unpacking more boxes, finding towels and sponges and soap. He'd also found his record-player and some records, hence the reason he was listening to the Beatles. He didn't per say like their music that much, but they'd been his father's.

Putting the music off he went over to the door. When he opened it, he saw Bill and Charlie, arguing with Fred and George.

"...he went mental!" one of the twins pointed at his eye. "Hit me just because I said I thought the Malfoy kid was screwing someone!"

"He's gone completely nutters," the other dropped in. "I mean come on... he went at me too when I said maybe one of you were doing him."

At the idea of having sex with Bill or Charlie—as if, they couldn't compete with Ron, even if they tried—Draco couldn't help but chuckle, and the four brothers turned to him in shock—they hadn't know he was there.

"You think it's funny our brother's become a deranged idiot?" Fred asked sharply—he'd learned to keep them apart better now, Fred's voice took a higher note when he was angry—where George didn't.

"Your brother was a deranged idiot before," Draco tipped up an eyebrow. "I think it's funny everyone keeps on insinuating I'm having sex—what's it to you anyway?"

"Why are you wearing Ron's sweater?" George ignored the question and pointed at the 'R'.

"It's cuddly—very warm," Draco insisted, burying his hands in the sides. "Your mum's really good at this sort of thing—my mum was worth shit when it came to making jumpers."

He looked across the hallway once, but they were all alone—it slightly innerved them. The twins weren't that likeable, always getting under his skin. He decided he would go look for Ron, and leave the four to their bickering about said redhead.

Closing his bedroom door he locked it—giving Fred and George a glare—and went to walk away, when someone suddenly touched his side. He turned around, startled, to find Charlie—still touching his underwear.

"Have you gone mad?" He frowned, and Charlie looked up apologetically—Bill chuckled.

"'m sorry, couldn't resist. Real Chinese silk?"

Draco nodded, pulling away from the older man slightly. Charlie's eyes were glittering and Draco inwardly sighed—_leave it to the Weasleys to become excited about silk._

"Can you please not touch me without warning—I don't like being touched by big redheads." He glared, walking away—though when he turned the corner he could clearly hear Charlie and Bill laugh knowingly.

When he reached the bedroom Ron resided in, he was surprised to see he had company. The two girls, to be precise. He was playing chess with Hermione whilst she had a discussion with Ginny, who was on the free bed in the room, flipping through a magazine. He was about to turn around—_I can always go back to moping in my room_—when Ginny noticed him.

"Hey, Malfoy!" he paused and Ron and Hermione looked up. "Come in—I wanna ask you something."

He scowled and buried his hands in his sides again, being quite chilly, but went inside the room anyway. She patted the bed next to her and he rolled his eyes, flopping down nonetheless.

"Do you like boys?" Ginny asked straight-out, and Draco grinned.

"What's not to like about boys?" He said innocently, and she pursed her lips—Ron smirked and Hermione frowned.

"I mean, are you gay?"

"Tss, that's a hard question," Draco leaned back, _oh, this'll be fun_. "I can't be sure I'm afraid."

"Oh come on! Have you ever been attracted to a guy?" Ginny pressed. "I bet you've had a crush on Harry once!"

From the corner of his eye, Draco saw that Ron had turned from happy to not-so-happy. _So he does have a complex; he feels inferior to Pot-head_.

"Absolutely not," Draco said with such certainty that Ginny _knew_ he wasn't lying. "If I'd ever fall in love with a boy, it would not be Potter—he's not even cute."

"He's gorgeous!" Ginny objected.

"Yeah, we all know that's what you think," Draco rolled his eyes, and Ginny pouted. "But he has no catch—nothing special. So his parents are dead and he's famous. Who gives a shit? The only good thing about him is his hair—it has that just-shagged-look, you know?" Ginny nodded in agreement. "But that's where it ends. Not nearly enough to make my panties drop—not that I wear _panties_, but whatever."

Ginny chuckled and Draco saw Ron's ears reddening at the thought of Draco without panties—_underwear_.

"What about Ronald?" Hermione asked suddenly, grinning at Ginny and the blonde looked up—so this had been their plan, teasing him about something they didn't even know was true? Two could play that game.

Ron spluttered in protest but Draco grinned.

"Now freckles is just drop-dead-gorgeous, don't _you_ think," he looked at Granger, and she turned a bright red. Ron's mouth dropped. "Potter's nothing compared to him."

"You just say that because he beats your ass at Quidditch." Ginny smiled.

"Be careful Weaslette," Draco frowned. "Let's not forgot he's the masculine version of you—so I was actually complementing you."

She merely laughed and he got up—they were probably bored of him by now.

"You don't have to go," Ginny said, and he tipped up his eyebrow. "Or are we not good enough for you?"

"I guess you'll do," he sat back down again. "But I have to warn you I tend to make very ambiguous and indecent remarks about sex."

"Have you ever had any?" Ginny asked curiously—Hermione and Ron had stopped playing chess, concentrating on the conversation instead—she just couldn't help it, she wanted to know, because Draco was kind of handsome too, which naturally made her curious about his sex-life.

"Sex? Why is it that everyone around here is wondering about my virginity?" He huffed slightly, leaning back on the bed.

Ginny came to lean over him—she was really close and he didn't know if he liked it. She whispered softly, as if telling a great secret, which she was: "I have to admit something. I heard Remus and Sirius discuss it when they were in the kitchen once—something about you and sex, and I told the twins, and since then everyone just kinda wants to know."

"Even though it's none of your business?" his eyebrows rose in question and she nodded, giggling.

"So?"

"I'm not telling you," Draco yawned. "It's not proper—flaunting with your love-life like it's nobody's business."

"But you're... coveted, right?" Ginny asked. Draco frowned for the bizzilionth time. "Oh, you know what I mean! No one can deny that you're really good-looking. There's plenty of people that wanna get inside your pants. And you're really flirtatious."

"Yeah. I flirt," he nodded his agreement. "Doesn't everyone? Flirting doesn't mean shit. I'd flirt with a fucking Huffelpuff if I'd get what I want."

"When you bought Sirius and Remus those weird presents you mentioned the owner of the sex-shop?" she asked—_she's on a role. Has she been writing everything I say down or something?_

"He was flirting, I flirted back, went inside the shop—and I got a discount. Voila. The art of flirting. You make them think you're giving them what they want, and it's as easy as that."

"Do you do it a lot?" She asked. "Work the charm I mean."

"I'm quitting," he laughed. "It tends to make the secret lover fume, and that makes the secret lover cranky and then I don't get heads."

Ginny's mouth dropped—Ron blushed, even though he hadn't been speaking the truth completely. The casual mentions of heads and secret lovers—who _happened_ to be called Ron—made him hot, apparently. This time, when he got up, Ron did too, and he inwardly smirked.

"I have to go to the loo." He said, and left.

Hermione frowned at his retreating back, and Draco stretched.

"I was unpacking," he yawned again. "And I'm kinda tired. Thanks for the conversation and all."

Ginny grinned at him and he winked—she blushed slightly. _God, they're so easy_. Granger didn't say a thing, instead focussed on the chessboard.

Before Draco even managed to wonder where Ron'd gone, someone pulled him into an empty room—an empty _dark_ room. There was a hand under his jumper immediately, and a hand going down his front.

"You're such a bastard." Ron hissed, and Draco tipped his head back at the feeling of those warm hands.

"Why's that?" He questioned feebly, cheeks blushing slightly.

"You can't turn me on in front of people," Ron murmured against his skin. "'s not fair."

"Turn you on?"

"Don't mention heads, because I know what your mouth can do besides sneering." Ron said cheekily, and Draco felt himself growing hot at his words—heads appeared to be some kind of magic word.

"Now who's the bastard?" He grunted, but got no answer, besides a hand tugging his silk boxers down in one go.

--

Sirius and Remus were in the kitchen—Remus still somewhat weakened, but ready to go back to work the next day—drinking tea. It was considerably quiet in the house, even though Ron and Draco had been bitching about for days. They'd start fighting at random moments, and Sirius knew they were fighting about how to tell Ron's relatives they were dating. They didn't mind the quiet though—perhaps they'd already gone to bed.

Remus was just about to comment about how they hadn't seen the teenagers in a while, when a thump was heard from upstairs, and they looked at the ceiling.

"SIRIUS! THEY'RE FIGHTING AGAIN!" Hermione called, and they heard Ginny shriek.

Sirius' eyes locked with Remus', and he sighed.

"You get the blonde, I'll take the redhead." Remus gave a nod, and they went up the stairs.

When they reached the fourth floor hallway they suddenly realised that this was _not good_. Fred and George were rooting for Ron, and Hermione and Ginny looked rather appalled. Bill and Charlie had rather amused looks on their faces. But what was really not good, was the fact that they _weren't fighting_.

"Oh God," Remus groaned when he realised this. "They aren't fighting, are they?"

Hermione looked up when she heard the exclamation, gasped, and focussed on the two boys again. She seemed to notice now too, though the others stayed oblivious. Sirius nodded, and muttered: "you still get the blonde."

And without further notice they moved in on the two boys. Remus grasped Draco around his waist, pulling him away a bit, _dammit!_ While Sirius yanked back Ron.

"Hey! Let go of me!" Draco spluttered against the brunette, and Ron tried to grasp his shirt, accidentally pulling it off his body since it'd been completely unbuttoned.

"Ron, behave!" Sirius said sternly. Remus let go of Draco, who glared and brushed off his jeans. "Or I'm telling your mum!"

"You wouldn't dare!" Ron's eyes widened, and Draco suddenly slapped him hard across his cheek. Remus frowned at the move—Malfoy's were rather rough on their lovers, apparently.

"Auw! What the hell?" Ron focussed on Draco again, and Fred and George stilled. Why on earth was Draco's shirt gone?

"Hey, remember me?" Draco asked sarcastically, tipping his head to the side. "The guy you half-undressed and left undone?"

"Right..." Ron gave a cocky grin and before someone could protest, they were tangled again—this time no one failed to notice the fact that their lips were locked.

Draco inwardly smiled when Ron's hands went to his zipper immediately—he was always so keen on undressing him, definitely when Draco's lower half was involved. His own hands went over his back, pulling off the t-shirt over his head. He groaned when another layer was exposed.

"Why the hell are you wearing so much clothes?" He glared at the shirt, making quick work of the buttons. Remus and Sirius exchanged a look once more—they weren't too sure they wanted to separate shirt-less teenagers. "Can't you just walk around in only undies or something, Goddammit."

"It's not like you're returning the favour," Ron frowned down at him, hand settling on his belt. "Do you have to wear belts?"

"No I don't, but I like them." Draco had to resist the urge to stick out his tongue, but was too busy pulling off Ron's undershirt—Merlin, he hated the redhead sometimes.

"Well they're hard to undo, you stupid prick." He gave a final tug, the belt finally opening—Draco just huffed, but before he could reply, the adults gave a firm nod, and Remus pulled him away again.

"HEY!" Ron spurted after them, hand still on Draco's belt, but Sirius was faster, tripping the redhead. "FUCK!" The belt slipped out of Draco's jeans with a weird sound, and Ron fell face-forward on the floor.

They heard the blonde shout all sorts of nasty things all the way down the stairs. Ron hit his head against the floor continuously in aggravation, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously much like: "why? Why won't he just be naked." In a whiny voice.

"Ron," Sirius helped the redhead up, turning him to their spectators. "Talk."

"But Sirius," Ron protested. "You took away my other half! Don't you think we're supposed to do this together?"

Sirius gave the boy a suspicious look, frowning slightly. Then he sighed and nodded.

"Remus!" He called, and seconds later they heard a thump, and someone coming up the stairs again.

Draco emerged, redoing his jeans, without his belt—it was still being held by Ron—and he brushed off his bare chest, since his shirt was still on the ground. Ignoring the gaping stares the others were giving him, he kissed Ron's cheek, and then glared at their crowd.

"Well, erm..." Ron paused, fidgeting with the white belt. "I'm kinda in love with Draco Malfoy."

Fred and George gaped—oh, jokes were soon to come, not yet. Hermione whimpered slightly, and Ginny looked a bit faint in the knees. She mouthed "Draco Malfoy?" in disbelief, and Hermione caught her before she passed out. Bill clapped his hands and Charlie gave the blonde a wink.

"Now that we had that," Draco observed the completely chaotic faces with glee—_ah, shocked relatives. Love it._ "On to the state of undress?"

"I like that idea." Ron grinned, going for the jeans again.

"Ron!" Hermione frowned at the couple in distaste. He looked up and Draco glared at the bushy brunette. "Did you tell Harry? Or are you planning on fucking his arch nemesis while he's in the room."

"Fuck off stupid bitch," Draco went to hit her, balling his fists at her comment, but Ron stopped him. "He can fuck me wherever he wants." He stuck out his tongue, this time not managing to resist the urge, and Ron gave him a flashing smile before he turned to Hermione.

"I'm going to tell him, but I just don't feel like writing him about it," Ron took the blonde's hand and starting leaving with him. "And if any of you tells him before I get a chance to, fear my wrath. It's blonde and has sharp teeth."

Draco gave a small laugh, and then pushed him against the wall in a quick move, attaching his lips to Ron's. Everyone stared as the blonde flipped them over, pulling Ron's body against his own by his jeans. He worked on the buttons quickly, their bodies pushing against each other's and he eventually managed to undo them properly. Bending through his knees, he pushed down the trousers while kissing Ron's thigh. Ron groaned softly, banging his head against the wall and Draco grinned getting up again. He took the redhead's hand, and went over to the closest door he could find—Ron stumbled clumsily out of his jeans, leaving them in the hallway as they disappeared in the room.

Everyone just stood there, staring at the door dumbstruck. Ginny still looked sort of faint, and Hermione wrapped an arm around her, hoisting her away from the scene. Fred looked at his older brothers—they were grinning broadly.

"You guys knew, didn't you?" He asked, and George stared at the door.

"Well," Bill started in his most defensive voice. "It was... not that obvious, but obvious enough."

"It was obvious that Ron wanted to get inside Draco's jeans." Charlie agreed, thinking about all the times their youngest brother had glared or shouted at them for coming too close.

"And you don't even mind?" Fred asked in disbelief.

"If he's happy, what does it matter?" Charlie shrugged, and it was then that George suddenly frowned, pointing at the door.

"Guys..." he started, and they focussed on him. "Isn't that... your bedroom?"

Their mouths dropped.

**AN: Hehe. This was kinda fun to write--coming out to Harry will be even more fun though, he has the stupid face to match. Hope you guys liked--I will once more point out the malepreg. and the poll on my page, please take it. And review, 'cause I'm not updating if you don't. Next will be a bit more... well... more--but don't worry, not in the m-rated way. But yeah, Ron's Draco's, and everyone will know. Trust me--and really, it's not because they're suddenly an item that Ron can get away with saying stupid stuff--come and read next chapter... which will magically appear, after you've updated ;)**


	9. Like and Love

9. Like and Love

**AN: Draco hasn't cried in a while. So I made him, neh. Warning: invasion of the girls!**

"I'm hungry," Draco yawned, shifting slightly. "Do you think Bill and Charlie are going to want to murder me?"

"I dunno—my guess is they went to another bedroom after we left," Ron gave a lazy smirk, burying his head deeper into Draco's side. "Let's sleep some more."

"I'm not tired anymore," the blonde complained, glancing down at Ron. He had already closed his eyes again. "I'm getting up, _now_." He warned.

"Nuh!" Ron flung his arms around Draco's waist before he could move. Draco glared. "Stay a bit longer."

"I'm hungry," Draco stated once more, and wriggled himself free, moving to the side of the bed. "I'm in desperate need of food. I'm going to have breakfast. Whether or not you come with me is entirely up to you."

"But I'm tired," Ron sulked, looking up at the blonde, who'd already started to look for some clean boxers. "You're so mean."

"I'm not making you get up," he took a shirt off the floor, buttoning it up before going to his drawer. "I'm actually really sweet."

All he heard was a groan, and the bed squeaked—he knew Ron was getting up. He took a pair of undies and black pyjama-shorts, then turned and waited for Ron to dress. He was actually quite fast, for once, since he just took any clothing he could find—no matter that the shorts and the t-shirt he was wearing were Draco's. Ah well,_ I wear his sweaters all the time_. He was still somewhat sleepy as they headed for the door and Draco chuckled.

"Are you okay?" he asked as they trotted down the stairs. "You look as if something hit you, really hard."

"Bugger off—you can't wake me up so early and expect me to look all pretty and shit."

"I wasn't saying you don't look pretty," Draco grinned and pushed the kitchen door open. "I mean, seriously. Pretty's such an understatement for what you are right now. The a-train-ran-me-over look really fits you Ron—we should just go back to the bedroom and have rowdy sex, seriously, you make my knickers drop."

Then he paused. Ron bumped into him—but he didn't even notice, more focussed on the fact that there were way too much people staring at him. _Oh Merlin, they're having a meeting._ He'd just announced to the entire order that Ron made his knickers drop—this could not be good.

Of course, Sirius was grinning like a madman—_who would've expected that huh?_—and Remus was biting his lip so hard it bled, to make sure he wouldn't burst out laughing. Dumbledore smiled his normal weird smile, and Snape looked repulsed. Molly and Arthur looked rather shocked, and Bill and Charlie exchanged a knowing look. Everyone else stared at him as if he had a terrible decease and he should just die, _now_ please.

"Don't say that," Ron muttered, and absentmindedly put his head against Draco's shoulder. "I'm too tired to have sex right now."

"Erm... I just wanted... tea..." Draco smiled—_ignore the fact that they think you're a freak! Just function properly._ "I'll be gone soon."

He stepped away from Ron—who wobbled and whined, flopping down on the floor, eyes still shut—and now everyone looked at him instead of the slightly-blushing blonde. Draco quickly grabbed two cups, while Ron muttered something darkly—it sounded suspiciously much like: "hot bastard being a bitch and dragging me down here." And Draco scowled.

"I didn't drag you anywhere," he protested, pouring tea. "You just stalked me here."

"Oh please, you took away my pillow!" Ron whined.

Draco frowned, turning to the redhead on the floor.

"You weren't even using a pillow." He said matter-of-factly.

"Yes I was: you."

Draco's glare returned and he quickly added some sugar to the cups, searching for spoons.

"Are you calling me fat? Stupid wanker."

"I didn't even say that!" Ron's voice was whinny again, and Draco desperately hoped he would find a spoon soon—but they were all hiding from him.

"Pillows are fat, if I'm a pillow, I'm fat."

"You're not fat you're..." Draco chuckled at the pause, knowing Ron was trying his best to think straight. "I can't think right now. You're just... I dunno. Soft."

"That's the worst complement I've ever gotten," he thrust Ron's cup in his hand, and the redhead finally opened his eyes, blinking. "Seriously freckles, if you wanna share my bed again you're gonna have to do better then that. Now get your lazy arse up," he offered Ron a hand—the boy's eyes were all hazy and he looked rather cute. "So they can have their meeting."

"Huh?" Ron allowed Draco to get him up, and then focused on the kitchen-table, while the blonde swiftly made his way out of the room.

Before he could leave though, Dumbledore spoke: "it's quite alright Mister Malfoy. We were just leaving, actually," Draco turned. The professor was smiling brightly at him as he got up, offering him his chair. "Please, sit."

"Thank you sir." Draco sat down, and Ron stood there for a second—before the man next to Dumbledore moved up too, and he took his place.

Soon everyone was getting up and leaving—but Dumbledore stayed in the room, with Snape. Remus and Sirius stayed seated and Molly muttered something about making breakfast. Everyone at the table decided then that staring at the two teens would be a good idea. Ron had put his head down on his hands, and was snoring softly. Draco pretended not to notice and sipped his tea.

"So how are you mister Malfoy?" Dumbledore asked politely, sitting down again—next to Sirius this time, so he could look Draco in the eye as he spoke.

"I'm good, thank you sir." Draco smiled and Ron made a loud noise, his arms wobbling as they fell to the table, and his head dropped.

Ron dangerously tipped in his chair, and eventually his body surrendered to gravity as he fell to the side, conveniently landing in Draco's lap. The blonde glared down at Ron in distaste, the corner of his lip twitching angrily.

"Get the fuck off." He poked Ron in the ribs and the redhead muttered his protests. "Weasel, I swear, I'll push you if you don't move right now!" all Ron did was yawn in his sleep.

"Aw, be nice to him," Sirius smiled cheekily and Draco tried to glare him to death. "He's tired."

"He drools." Draco said dryly, as if that would solve the complete matter.

"Idunnot." Ron murmured softly and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Do too. Ron just go back to bed, you sad excuse for a human-being."

"'too tired." The redhead made himself more comfortable in Draco's lap.

"That makes no sense. You can't be too tired to go to bed." Draco argued.

When no comment came, Draco glanced down again—the redhead had to be uncomfortable, really. His hip was twisted into a weird angle, and the boy's hands were clawing at Draco's legs to keep steady. He winced slightly when deft fingers dug into his skin. Eventually Ron just outstretched himself over two chairs using Draco's lap to support his head. Malfoy, being a Malfoy and not appreciating being used as a pillow in public, coughed once, bringing his cup to his lips. When Ron still didn't react, Draco once more rolled his eyes and _accidentally_ tipped his cup over, spilling his hot tea down Ron's collar, _even if it's my shirt_—_it'll be worth it_. The redhead immediately jumped up in shock, flapping his t-shirt around to soothe the burn.

"Oh Merlin, I'm _so_ sorry." Draco stated jadedly, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"You bloody—" Ron was cut off when Draco pulled him down by his shirt again, blowing cool air onto the burn.

"Stop nagging, I got you off didn't I?" Ron blinked twice, and Draco blew some more. "And it's not that bad."

"You're a really abusive boyfriend, aren't you?" Sirius smirked and Draco released Ron, who flopped back down in his chair, eyes slightly wide.

"Of course not—this is me being nice." Draco looked smug, drinking his almost-empty cup of tea.

Ron sniggered and poured himself some pumpkin juice, while Draco's eyes went to Snape's rigid figure—the man hadn't said anything since Draco and Ron had entered the kitchen, and he was still just sitting there, staring at Draco unemotionally. Draco expected him to say something—anything, he wouldn't even be surprised if he started yelling—but then Dumbledore spoke again, and Draco was actually relieved.

"And have you been enjoying your stay at the house?" He asked—smiling with piercing eyes. Draco was sure the man was trying to look right into his soul.

"Very much, thank you," Draco nodded. "They're really good to me."

"I thought you and Sirius would get along well, contrary to popular believes." At this he gave Severus a glace, but the man kept on staring straight ahead.

"Yes," the blonde agreed. "He's very likeable."

He could see the discussed man smiling, out of the corner of his eye, and looked back at Dumbledore. He was absolutely positive the man was going to ask something about Ron—that was, before Fred and George suddenly entered the kitchen. They stilled at the sight of their youngest brother, and then flopped down in front of him—well, one of them did. The other sat down next to him, but they both fixed their eyes on his semi-sleepy figure. Draco did not like it.

"Ah, Ron," Fred began, and George poured them tea. "Just the Weasley we were looking for."

"Yes indeed," George agreed. "There were some things we wanted to discuss with you. Like..."

"WHAT ON EARTH IS WRONG WITH YOU!" Fred suddenly yelled, startling everyone in the room—Charlie and Ron opened their mouths, but George fell in.

"How can you even consider liking a Malfoy!"

"It's treason!"

"Not only are they Slytherins!" George pointed out, with Fred fiercely nodding. "They're also..."

"Malfoys! Which means they hate us!"

"And we hate them back."

"Fred, George!" Molly snapped in objection, directing a warning finger at them, but they were on a roll.

"Mum—a boy, fine, but he's a _Malfoy_!"

"His dad—" this time the twins were cut off, not by their mother, but by the blonde. Draco had been sitting there in perfect silence, not really caring about what they had to say, but now he abruptly stood.

"You didn't know my father," he snarled, and _my hands are shaking and my heart's thumping, but it's not their place._ "So don't act like you did. If you ever talk about him ever again—even as much as say his name—I will cut off your balls and feed them to the neighbour's cat. Now if you will excuse me."

"Draco..." Ron tried to stop the blonde as he headed for the door, but Draco flinched away from him, shaking off his concerned hand.

"Don't touch me." He snapped—_not that I mean to, I just do_.

Ron bit his lip, but followed the blonde nonetheless—part of him had gotten so used to the snapping that it didn't even matter anymore. He tried again when they entered the hall, touching Draco's arm in hopes of getting him to stop moving—at first Draco pulled back once more, but Ron tugged forcefully, wheeling him around. He was shocked to find Draco's eyes brimming with tears. He'd known the blonde was angry, but had no idea mentioning his father made him so emotional—_which only proves how stupid he is._ Of course mentioning his father would upset him, the ache was still fresh.

"Please Draco," Ron watched him struggle, trying to keep his tears from falling, but to no avail. "It's okay, you can cry if you want to."

"But I _don't_ want to." Draco objected, and one fat tear rolled down, tipping off over his nose.

"Draco it's okay to cry. Come on baby," he cooed softly and Draco tried to glare—instead he gave a violent sniffle. "Come here."

And as soon as Ron's arms wrapped around his form he dropped to his knees—dragging the redhead with him—and started crying like he'd never before. So he was emotionally unstable, and cried at irrelevant moments. His parents were dead. He had the right to.

--

He woke up curled up on the sofa, head a bit dizzy. All in all he felt rather okay—at least the stupid twins hadn't seen him cry, and it could have been worse. He could have bumped into things, Ron could have hit his head and died. You know, strange, illogical things could have happened. But they hadn't, and he was on the couch and okay.

Peeking one eye open he saw Ron on the carpet with Sirius—beating Sirius' ass at chess. Charlie was sitting in one of the fauteuils, Bill at his feet, explaining something about Gringotts. Besides them, the living room was completely empty. He heard loud voices from upstairs, and every now and then one of the redheads would look up at the ceiling and role their eyes.

Ron's eyes, which'd been fixed on his black, Pawn-slaughtering Rook, flitted to Draco as soon as the blonde moved on the couch. Their gazes locked and Draco made a little purring sound in the back of his throat, causing Ron to smile.

He stretched languidly, sitting up straight with a small yawn. He pulled up his knee—_there's no way to sit gracefully on these couches anyways_—and chuckled as Sirius gave a yelp and sadly gathered the pieces of his murdered Pawn.

"I hate wizard chess," he muttered darkly, and his king toppled over in sign of forfeit. "I can't believe you won again."

"Insight and logic aren't your major feats, you shouldn't be surprised." Sirius looked up at the blonde's comment, a pout on his face.

"We were all waiting for you to wake up," he said dramatically. "But now that you're awake I think I liked it better when you were sleeping," Bill chuckled and Draco rolled his eyes, he'd known Sirius would say something like that. "Your godfather is still here." Sirius added, and Draco's eyes widened.

"Severus?"

"Yes?" Said man was leaning against the doorpost, and they all turned to him.

Draco immediately got off the couch, slowly walking over to him—he felt like a naughty child, shrivelling under Snape's dark gaze. When he was right in front of the man, he carefully leered up at him—he had his hands in his sides, sternly looking down, and Draco really felt like an insolent brat. Before Severus could do anything, the blonde wrapped his arms around his godfather, and hugged him tightly.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered remorsefully, and Severus hesitated a second, before returning the hug.

"Now it's quite alright Draco," the man said—and his voice was chilly as always, but nonetheless, he petted the boy's back. "I haven't come to scold you."

"You—" Draco hiccupped and damned his voice for sounding so week—_but Severus is the only family I have left, how can I not fear to loose him?_ "You're not angry."

"I'm not angry," he assured the blonde, and Draco only hugged him tighter. "I just wish to have a word with you."

Draco nodded and they separated—he allowed Severus to lead him away from the living room, a hand posed on his shoulder. He guided him up the stairs, much to Draco's surprise. When they entered a hallway he first thought they were going to Sirius' bedroom. Then Severus opened a door, and Draco realised they were going to Regulus'.

When he entered the room, he went into a state of shock.

Regulus' room could've been anything—it could've been covered in dust, the walls could've been lime-green, the floor could've been fluorescent pink, books could've been neatly placed in racks and underwear could've been sprawled crisscross on the bed. What it couldn't have been was exactly like Sirius': walls covered with pictures. And now, Draco was a reasonable guy—he could do with pictures.

Pictures of Regulus snogging Severus on the other side, were a bit over top.

He tried his best not to faint. Did absolutely everyone he knew hide his love? How could he not have... _how..._

"From your state of shock I gather you understand why we're here." His godfather's voice shook him back to the present, as his eyes went over a rather impressive photo on Regulus' nightstand—who knew Severus had such muscles?

"I... I... you...—_didn't tell me_?" he ended in disbelief.

"You didn't tell me either," Severus shrugged his shoulders, and sat down on the dead man's bed—a bed, so Draco noted, he'd occupied on many occasions, if the pictures were any indication. "And this is something completely different—Regulus is... well, _dead_."

Draco turned to his godfather, just in time to see his eyes darken considerably—he saw the emotion reflected in them, and felt sorry. It was obvious to him that no matter what Severus said, he was still head-over-heels for the younger Black man.

"But you love him, so it's not different at all," Draco tried to get his godfather to look at him, but the man was absentmindedly staring at his shoes. "I never even knew you liked... _anyone_, really."

He focussed on a set of photos, and heard Severus chuckle—his chuckle was a bit like Sirius', since both of their voices were naturally hoarse. In the frame on Regulus' desk there was a series of photos taken at the same time, and Draco bent over to study them.

In the first picture Severus was on the chair by Regulus' desk, putting on his socks—he was half-naked and oblivious to the fact that someone was taking his picture. The picture didn't move, and Draco figured it was because it were Polaroid's—he wasn't sure if those came in wizard-size. In the second picture Regulus was on his knees in front of Severus, only wearing a white shirt, with his head posed against Severus' thigh—their eyes were locked, and the giddy side of Draco wanted to swoon, because he could just feel the emotion pouring out of the black and white shot. In the third they were kissing—Severus still on the chair—and in the fourth his godfather was undoing the younger boy's shirt. He was anxious to see what was in the fifth, but just as his eyes focussed, he heard a cough, and remembered that Severus was still sitting on the bed.

"Shopping helps," he said, turning to the man—who cocked an eyebrow in question. "I always shop when I'm depressed. And it helps."

"I'm okay." Severus said with a small frown, and Draco laughed heartlessly.

"There's no such thing as being _okay_ in a situation like this. Of course, my dad was okay too. That's why he sobbed into potatoes every now and then—and disappeared each year for about a week. Because he was so _okay_ with being in love with someone he couldn't have." He tried to not make it too clear that he finally found out who his father's secret lover was, and Severus didn't seem to notice.

"So maybe I'm not okay—it doesn't matter. I don't want to talk about Regulus," Severus snapped, glaring at his godson. "I'm trying to tell you that I'm okay with you and Weasl—... Ron."

"You can call him Weasley—I do too," Draco shrugged and stood. "Will you take me shopping?"

"What?" Severus frowned at the out-of-the-blue question, and Draco nodded.

"I'm not feeling well, if I don't go shopping now I'll start crying again, and I don't want that," he went over to the door. "I'm asking you if you'll come with me."

"I... sure." With a last regard at the pictures, Severus left the bedroom too.

--

He checked his appearance in the mirror, chewing his lip nervously—he hadn't been with his godfather in a while, and wanted to look good. Like he wasn't a wreck, dying on the inside, _let me pretend just a little longer_. Since it was rather sunny outside he'd decided on white trousers—although a bit tight, he still liked them—and a green shirt. Running his hand through his hair again, he turned away from his reflection, stared at his dad's picture for a minute, and left his room, heading down.

When he got back to the living room, Sirius and Ron were playing chess still, and Severus was sitting rather uncomfortably on the sofa. Draco chuckled at the sight of him shifting slightly, glancing at Sirius as if the man was about to pounce.

"I'm ready to go," Draco announced, breaking the silence that ruled in the room. They all looked up at him, and Severus stood thankfully, making his way over with haste. "Sirius, is it okay if Severus and I go out for a while?"

"Sure," Sirius looked up from the game—giving Ron a look, before smiling at Draco. "Just be back in time for dinner."

"I will, thanks." Severus gave them all a polite nod, before leaving with the blonde.

As soon as Sirius heard the door slam shut, he focused his attention on Ron, who had just destroyed one of his pieces.

"Why aren't you going with them?"

"Huh? That'd be weird. Snape doesn't even like me," Ron shrugged. "And wouldn't it be weird to go out on a first date with your godfather there?"

"You haven't even dated?" Bill asked in surprise.

"Than how did you get together?" Charlie dropped in.

"It just... sorta happened," Ron shrugged again, his ears getting a bit red. He looked down at the board. "Going out would just be... I dunno. He didn't ask me—it'd be rude."

"You're his boyfriend," Sirius grinned. "Don't you think going out together is actually normal?"

"I don't really know if I am. His boyfriend I mean," Ron started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, and cautiously avoided Sirius' eye. "I'm not sure if he's the boyfriend kinda person."

"So what are you then exactly?" Bill cocked his eyebrow in question.

"Just... in love." And for Ron that was all that mattered.

--

When Draco entered the kitchen that night, he immediately noticed the tense air. The twins, Hermione and Ginny were glaring at Ron—in return Bill and Charlie were glaring at the twins, just like Molly and Arthur, Sirius was glaring at Ginny, and Ron was glaring at Hermione. In fact the only one that wasn't glaring was Remus, but that was only because he was still at work. And Tonks—she was looking rather confused at the whole situation, and Draco figured she didn't know what was going on.

He scrapped his throat, and everyone glanced at him once, as he sat down next to Ron—then they resumed with trying to burn holes into each other's heads.

"I'm sorry I'm late." He said, trying to get everyone to stop their evil glaring—Molly smiled and scooped up some food, though her eyes were still angrily fixed on her sons.

"It's alright dear." She handed him his plate, and Sirius gave a nod.

"Had a good time?" he asked, and Draco nodded, poking his spaghetti experimentally.

"Yeah, I wanted to ask you about that," he looked at the older man. "Is everyone I know gay?"

"Wait..." Sirius paused and looked at him—then chuckled "Was that a trick question? Or... oh, he told you. I thought he would. Can we talk about it later?" With that, he focussed on his plate, and radiated his anger towards the Weasley girl—Ron didn't seem interested in talking either, and Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance. Tonks seemed like she wanted to say something, but the blonde beat her to it.

"Oh of course—because you're all too busy telling each other to die, _now_, using only your eyes," he snarled sarcastically. "What a useful way to spend your time."

Molly blushed, and looked at the boy resolutely—because she didn't want Draco to feel uncomfortable or anything. But then Fred spoke and she was silent.

"He's right," Fred declared, and they all stared at him in astonishment—Tonk trying to figure out what was going on still. "I don't know why we're glaring at Ron."

George nodded in agreement, and Ron smugly drank some water.

"It's Malfoy's fault—he cursed Ron." With that Ron choked on the water—coughing and spluttering.

"Excuse me, what?" Draco frowned, looking as if he hadn't heard them correctly, as he petted Ron's back in comfort.

"You slipped him a potion or something so that he would—"

"ENOUGH!" Ron scrapped his chair—breathing in harshly—his ears beet-red. Tonks looked at him in surprise at his sudden outburst, and now instead of staring at the twins, all eyes turned to the tall redhead. "Now I know we don't always get along well," he indicated the twins. "But you're my brothers and you're supposed to be pro me, no matter what! If you can't be, fine, but stop behaving like stupid pricks, because you're not and I expected more from you guys—because you're supposed to be there for me! As for you," he glared at his sister. "You ask him about his love-life like it's nobody's business, and what, it's okay for him to shag guys as long as it's not me?" she turned a faint red. Ron turned to Hermione, and his look softened. "You're my friend and I don't want to yell at you," he said, voice returning to normal. "But if you badmouth him—any of you—I swear I'll bloody strangle you."

"Sit down," Draco tucked at the redhead's shirt, and Ron looked down at him. "It's okay. Come on, sit," he reluctantly flopped down—and Tonks started talking about something that had nothing to do with anything, but it broke the ice, and the tension seemed to disappear, if only a bit. Draco kissed Ron's ear, and whispered: "thanks for threatening your family for me."

But he couldn't help wondering, _would I have done the same in his situation?_

--

"Draco?"

"Go away, I'm unpacking!" Draco glared at the door—he heard Granger huff, but didn't give a shit. It wasn't because he and Ron shagged on a regular basis that he needed to be nice to the boy's bushy friend.

"We want to talk to you!" Hermione insisted, and Draco wondered who 'we' was—then he continued sorting his books and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not a nice person. If you want conversation go to Ron."

"We want to talk to you, not Ron." She said, and suddenly a younger girl's voice dropped in.

"And it's not like we expected my brother's loving to be so fine that it suddenly turned you cuddly and warm." _Weaslette_.

"Ginny!" Tonks was there too, and Draco was sure she was looking at Ginny with an insulted look.

"Fine, come in," he stacked his books next to the rack and put the first one in. "But talk fast."

The door opened as he put the second and third book on the highest shelve, and continued alphabetising them.

"Wauw, that's really..." Tonks began—he couldn't see her, but was pretty sure she was looking at Remus' painting of his father.

"Get to the point, I'm busy." He snarled, glancing over at the three girls, before turning back to the bookcase.

"Can we sit on the bed?" Hermione asked.

"Sure—just keep in mind that I still need to change the sheets." He wasn't surprised when he heard them thud down on the floor instead.

"Why do you like my brother?" Ginny asked straight to the point—_figure she's sick of games._

"Excuse me?" Draco looked at least a bit surprised, and he turned to the girls, now that they'd caught his attention. He wondered if they were going to try and convince him that Ron was no good—_or whatever it is they're up to._

"What is it you like about him," Granger pressed. "Because you weren't too fond of him a couple of weeks back."

"I thought Malfoys morally apposed everything the Weasleys are." Tonks shrugged.

"Okay, so, let me get this straight..." Draco paused, placing a hand in his side—his eyes fixed on all three of the girls and he was happy to see that they shrivelled back somewhat in fear. "You come here and interrupt me while I'm busy—all to try and point out that whatever reason I have for liking freckles, it's not good enough because his family's views don't match mine?"

"You have nothing in common!" Ginny protested, as if she hadn't made her earlier remark.

"What do you even know about him?" Hermione questioned—_and that's not fair, because I'm doing the best I can._

"This really isn't any of your business," Draco snapped, and pointed at the door. "Leave my room this instant. If you've come to nag I want none of it."

"You don't even love him." Hermione bit back, as they got up.

"You don't know that!"

"Well do you?" she questioned darkly—Ginny bit her lip.

"Leave." He gave a last look towards the door and... and he almost didn't notice the redhead standing by the door, leaving seconds before the girls did—_almost_.

**AN: I know. Everyone's just gay, aren't they?**

**Warning: four days after posting this chapter—6****th**** February—at 6pm my time (sorry if that doesn't match your time) I'm closing down the poll on my page. So be sure to take it, so I know who to knock up sweethearts! I can't continue this story if I don't know who to impregnate.**


	10. Tangible and Surreal

10. Tangible and Surreal

**AN: this is a bit of a small chapter—I'd even da****re call it... irrelevant, but _no_—written purely for my own amusement. Let's hope it brightens your day as well as mine!**

Draco knew he'd pissed Ron off—he really did. If Ron wasn't mad with him, he wouldn't have left; he would've probably come in and whined about something while Draco pretended to ignore him. Besides that, he hadn't properly seen the boy in two days—and Ron did not go without sex for two days and two nights unless he was pissed off. Draco might not know him as well as he wanted to—he knew one thing: the boy was a horny bastard.

Apparently he'd infuriated the redhead, and though he knew how, he pretended not to—and _no, I'm not in denial. Malfoys don't do denial. We stomp our feet and throw vases_.

So instead of apologising or trying to talk to Ron, he waited in an empty hall closet. He heard the confused noises his redhead made when the boy was suddenly pulled into the pitch black room and enjoyed his power—pushing his body into the other's, forcing Ron against the wall.

Ron gave a scared yelp and tried to fight the blonde off—it wasn't until Draco cooed softly that he stilled—fist mid-air—noticing who it was.

"Relax freckles," Draco purred, attaching his lips to what he thought was the skin of Ron's neck—tasted like it too, musky and good, "we've been here before."

"Drake—" Ron began, but moaned when Draco hit a sensitive spot that was better known as the hollow of his throat—Draco was making it hard for him to focus, _which is good, because now he can't be pissed at me, _"Draco..." another moan fell from the boy's lips and Draco pressed his hips against the other's, creating beautiful friction—he had to bite his lip not to make any noise himself, "st—stop."

The blonde paused in his movements, but only so he could tug up Ron's sweater.

"Why? You like it," he smirked—even though Ron couldn't see him in the dark—and let his fingertips run over the tanned abs.

Even just the feel was intoxicating—his breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment. He could imagine the exact look of the belly under his fingers. He had seen the redhead naked so many times, the image was vivid in his head—_if that does not prove true love, than what does?_ There was no other body he wanted to know but this.

"Why don't you love me?" The question was a broken glass in a silent room—Draco's eyes shot open, and he could see Ron's, gleaming amber.

"I've told you I loved you before," this time, when Draco snapped, he meant to.

"Are you ashamed that you do?" Ron's voice was petite in the overcrowded room—pleading and begging to just... _what?_

"Of course not," he snarled, fisting Ron's sweater still, "you bloody know I'm just not affectionate that way."

"I would give up my family for you," Ron said—_and I always envied that. He can be so straight-out, put his heart on line. And he means it,_ "but you can't even say you love me."

"If you want someone to tell you they love you every single day you're barking up the wrong tree," _never mind the fact that you're the tree, I'm barking,_ "I don't like to say I love you all the time—if you do it..." he saw Ron's questioning eyes, took a deep breath and_ if he could only give me a bit of that bravery I could just..._ "it looses meaning. I don't want that."

"Draco I don't tell you I love you out of habit," Ron argued, but inclined his head—though his fists were pinned to the wall by Draco's hands—and rested it atop the blonde's, allowing the boy to lean into his body harder than before, "but because I miss you before you're even out the door. And when you're right next to me, it's still not close enough. It hurts that you can only tell me you love me back when you're vulnerable and all the walls are down—because I know that is when you feel unsafe and unhappy."

"I love you with my body and soul—not with words," Draco pointed out—as if not having heard the fact that Ron was referring to _all these weaknesses I have_, "why do you need them so badly?"

"It's just hard for me to... be sure of things like this," Ron sighed into the blonde hair, "is it so bad that I want to hear _I love you_ every once in a while?"

"I'm not going to go affectionate just because you're so good to me," Draco answered stubbornly, and pulled away from Ron's broad chest—again determent, starting on the boy's buttons, as if he was not leaving before he'd gotten him naked, "I just fell in love—it's not my fault it was you. That doesn't make it easier—that doesn't change who I am. Maybe you like me because you think you can change me."

"Now you're being ridiculous," Ron tried to make the blonde look up at him, but his hands were being pressed into the wall by one of Draco's, and there was nothing he could do, "I knew I liked you from before we had sex. You walking around like hell on earth is a mere fact. It neither determines nor defines my love for you."

"But you want someone else—someone who doesn't have mood-swings and doesn't..."

"Draco, I'd want you no other wa—" he was cut off when Draco pressed his lips against the other's—secretly wanting him to just stop talking because _loving you hurts so damn much._

"I love you," Draco murmured, a dark promise in the dark room but _I actually need this just as much as Ron does_, and he tugged the boy closer by looping his fingers in his jeans, "let's go up to your room."

"We always go to mine," Ron carded his hands through the hair at the back of Draco's neck, whilst they shuffled to the door—bumping into mops on their way.

"No we don't," Draco huffed, nipping at Ron's jawbone, "we go to mine all the time."

"We've been there twice," Ron argued, pushing open the door as they stumbled out of the closet, and then stilled, "besides, if we go to my room or anywhere else, you don't stay with me all night," Ron admitted silently, as if it were just an afterthought.

Draco smirked.

"You want me to spend the night with you?" He questioned teasingly.

Ron nodded, wiping some of the blonde hair out of his face. He took the boy's delicate yaw and drew it up to kiss him. Draco grinned against his lips, pulling back slightly to lock their eyes, before reengaging in kissing the redhead.

"Fine," Draco gave a fake-sigh and pulled Ron towards the staircase, "let's go freckles."

By the time they'd reached the top of the stairs Draco's head was spinning with all sorts of contradictory thoughts, but he didn't want to care about that. He quickly left for the bathroom, leaving Ron in his bedroom, and splashed some water in his face to calm down. He didn't want to have a conscious and he did _not_ want to feel guilty for kissing Ron. He could snog whoever he wanted, whenever he wanted—why couldn't his head just get that? Nothing seemed to ever change the fact that there was a voice—sounding suspiciously much like his mother—telling him that this was _all wrong_.

He wished that the voice sounding like his father could win. He wished he could love Ron without feeling like betraying his family. He wished he could feel loved, without feeling like he was a disappointment. He wished he could see his father and talk to him about this—he wished he could be one hundred percent sure his father would not push him away.

Sometimes he just wished he could be certain he knew Lucius—all of him.

He watched his reflexion in the mirror and wondered if anything had really changed. He tried to tell himself that things had, but he couldn't see a difference from the person he'd been before. Now he was only more open—the only thing that had changed was the fact that Ron was willing to see who he was inside, where before he'd just figured Draco was a sadistic bastard—_and I always think he's right, but that was never fair of him._

He shrugged off his t-shirt and threw it in the hamper—physically he was no different either. His skin was still pale, his hair still blonde. Only now hickeys graced his collarbone—and there were impressive imprints on his hips from where the redhead always held him. _But what about me?_ He thought. Because before he'd never been insecure and now what he wanted most was to... _know what you really think and how you really feel—but that seems to be what I can't have._

When he heard a soft curse coming from the bedroom he snapped out of it—realising that he'd left Ron alone. Turning to the door he saw aforementioned redhead sitting on the floor, sifting through a pink bag. He leaned against the doorframe, cocking up an eyebrow and coughed, trying to draw the boy's attention.

"What on earth are you doing?"

Ron's head shot up and he grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

"I was just curious as to what was in here," he reached into the bag and fished out a pair of pale stockings, "any chance of you showing these for me?"

Draco instantly glared.

"Bastard! I am no _girl_!"

"I'm not saying that you are," he shrugged, _but I'm unstable and I know this but I can't help it_, "I just meant that..."

"Get out!" Draco pointed at the door—eyes flaring and Ron backed away carefully in fright.

"Drake I didn't..." he started but Draco came at him, causing him to scramble to his feet hastily.

"Get out NOW!" And _you'll just have to be patient with me because I'm not good with this._

--

Ron had just finished undressing when he heard a soft knock on the door. He grumbled—he was not in the mood for conversation. First he'd been fighting with Draco, then they'd been okay, and now they were fighting again. Sometimes he really wished he could read the blonde's mind, or that he could get him to trust him so that Draco would just tell him what was the matter. He wanted to be able to help him whenever he needed it, and in times like this he felt so useless.

"Come in," he muttered and was just about to reach for his pyjama-shirt when a familiar voice rang through the room.

"One word of this to anyone and I'll kill you," Ron turned, blinked—and knew he would never forget this moment, the image burned on his retina.

Draco was standing by the door, clad in a white shirt, with a blue print on it, which reached mid-thigh—barely covering any body parts, as the collar was way too big and revealed part of his shoulder. Black stockings were plastered to his skin, reaching somewhere above his knee, under the seam of the shirt, connected with a lace thread to the garters—which Ron could vaguely see through the thin fabric of the garment.

"Oh God," Draco watched him gasp and put his hand in his hip, tapping his foot impatiently. The redhead slowly walked over to him, swallowing thickly, "_fuck_, Drake," he carefully tugged at the white shirt, pulling Draco to the bed with him. He sat down and the blonde paused, standing between the other's legs curiously, "you look so beautiful baby."

His hands skated over the outside of the shirt, drawing the outline of Draco's figure, feeling at the junction of his hips. Ron evened his thumbs over the boy's pelvis, eyes fixed on his thighs—his mouth was opened slightly in surprise and Draco could hear his breathing harden. As the blonde's own eyes wandered down the tanned torso he realised Ron's breathing wasn't the only thing that had gotten hard. _Oh no,_ his lover was definitely turned on. Those big hands crawled under his too big shirt, smoothing over his back as he was pulled down to straddle Ron's lap, so that he could feel the effect of his presence pressing against his thigh.

"Please baby," Ron whispered huskily, kissing the exposed shoulder, and Draco grazed his hands over the redhead's freckled back, "please, let me have you like this."

And Draco allowed him to take him, slender hasty hands pulling down too tight underwear and rough fingers roving over pale skin. Uncanny perfection, erratic movements, shallow thrusts and uneven breathing. As Ron made love to him, the blonde could feel his pants and moans and _'ahn, Drake!'_s against his chest, the vibrant red head resting there, sweaty skin and wet lips meeting and brushing together. His hands were on Ron's back the entire time, clamping and trying to hold on to something so surreal—only Ron's voice clear in the dark, only stars illuminating the room.

Breathy gasps and throbbing pleasure coursing through tingling bodies and up shivering spines. White lights flickered behind his eyes and he heard his blood run through his veins, his pulse thundering.

Afterwards they fell to the bed in a messy heap of sticky limbs, and Draco drowned in the sound of their heavy breathing, pulling his shirt off and over his head, tossing it to the floor. Ron's fingers were holding on to the black lace of his garters, but they didn't move, just lay there and regained their breath. The darkness was pressing against Draco's tired body and he wanted nothing more than to sleep for months with-on-end. The breeze coming from the open window cooled their naked skin and they lay there, dazed and broken—completely open for anyone to see—but Draco ignored the nasty insecurities, and Ron rolled onto his side, cuddling into the blonde's chest.

Draco's heart was still beating too fast, but he managed to bring up a hand and stroke through the wet hair, as Ron's pants slowly evened down. The boy's breath was soft on Draco's warm chest, and he knew he was close to sleep. Part of him hoping the redhead was too far gone to hear, another part knowing _I need it just as much as Ron does,_ he whispered: "I love you."

Ron's lips twirled up into a giddy smile, and he wheezed out: "I love you more."

Draco closed his eyes as well, because he needed to grasp onto moments like these, rare moments where love was tangible.

"No, I love you more," he huffed, his breath still coming in puffs. Ron opened his mouth to speak again, but Draco silenced him, pressing a finger to his lips, "it's okay freckles, sleep."

"Stay with me," Ron demanded softly—in that moment Draco realised how... _steady_ they'd gotten. It seemed as if there were less insecurities than there had been at first. And somehow it made him wanna smile, _if that isn't positive growth, I don't know what is._

"Always," he felt the other body shiver pleasantly, and Ron entwined their legs—his hand still stuck between Draco's hip and the dark garters.

Soon the redhead's breathing returned to its usual steady rhythm, indicating that he'd fallen asleep. Draco focussed instead on the room—he'd never spent a night here before. The other bed, across from the one they were inhabiting was made, ready for when Harry would arrive. That prospect scared Draco, and he unconsciously pulled Ron closer—he wasn't sure what would happen once that Harry came to stay at the house.

He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to find out.

The blinds weren't drawn, so that he could see the stars outside, one window opened to cool the hot air in the room. There was an empty frame, and a mirror that seemed to murmur as it slept. All of Ron's stuff was scattered around the room, and there were letters set on the desk by one of the grand windows. They shifted steadily in the wind, but Ron'd put an inkpot on them, so they couldn't fly away. Draco was curious as to what was said in those letters, but wouldn't let his curiosity take over—_we're stable and refined, and don't sneakily read our lover's secrets._

When Ron made a small noise in the back of his throat, and murmured softly: "Draco," the blonde turned to him—his eyes were still closed and he appeared to be sleeping, though he pulled Draco closer. Draco frowned, a bit confused about the giddy feeling this gave him—he felt so happy, it almost frightened him. It was amazing what that redhead did to him.

Ron turned in his sleep, his hair brushing against Draco's chest. Draco kissed the top of his head delicately and closed his eyes as well. Soon he fell asleep, with the redhead's slumbering body on top of his own.

--

Draco awoke with Ron's breath tickling his neck, the first rays of light streaming in through the windows. During the course of the night they'd shifted, Ron spooning close against his backside—Draco was almost certain the redhead had gotten up somewhere after they'd first fallen asleep, because the sheets were pulled up to cover their naked flesh, and Ron was happily settled against Draco's body, curves matching together perfectly. He could feel Ron sliding against him even when he moved his hips just a little. _That bastard,_ he chuckled softly, _such a horny bitch—must be having nice dreams,_ since he was sporting a hard-on. The boy's hands were wrapped possessively around Draco's waist, both of them gripping on to the lace of the garters. Draco found that one of his own hands was resting on top of the redhead's, and he smiled.

There was no denying that waking up like this was absolutely wonderful, even _if it's sentimental as hell_.

"Mpph," Ron grumbled inarticulately, and Draco smirked, "baby," his voice was thick with sleep, "are you up yet?"

"Mhm," Draco nodded, pulling the redhead closer to his body.

"You know, I was just wondering," he murmured seductively, suddenly alert, and he kissed Draco's earlobe, "did we ever have sex in this position?"

Draco laughed, teasingly pushing his hips back against the redhead's—Ron groaned and Draco entwined their fingers.

"We're not having sex," he said fake-sternly, "I'm enjoying our cuddle."

"Ow, but baby," Ron whined softly, next to the blonde's ear, "we can cuddle afterwards. Post-coitus snuggles are so much nicer."

"Pffrt," Draco snorted, "sentimental bitch."

"Okay, that's it," Ron said sternly, and he let go of Draco's body, rolling the blonde onto his back, lightly skimming his fingers over the naked sides, making Draco giggle—_do not giggle, you idiot!_—unwillingly, "you're getting served, right now."

By the time they were done the sun had fully risen, and Ron had successfully made Draco feel like the giddiest person on earth—he just couldn't stop smiling. Ron had that satisfied just-shagged grin as he happily wrapped an arm around the blonde's form, his other hand stroking over the dark stocking that were plastered against Draco's sweaty skin.

"You make things so sticky Ron," Draco purred, grinning as the boy stuck out his tongue childishly, "such a mess."

"Fine," Ron quickly kissed the blonde's mouth, and got up, stretching, "I'll clean you up Drake."

He walked over to the bathroom, and re-emerged not much later with a towel and a wet washcloth. Draco yawned and turned onto his stomach as the redhead crawled onto the bed next to him. He pushed Draco's legs apart and carefully ran the cloth between the blonde's cheeks, bending over to examine his handiwork, wanting to be sure he'd cleaned the boy properly.

"Drake, are you okay?" He paused when he caught sight of the boy's puckered opening—he'd never given it a moment's thought before, but what if he'd hurt the blonde?

"I'm fine," he yawned again, unaware of the other's concerned thoughts, "why?"

"It looks so painful," Ron frowned, swiping the cloth over the boy's ass again, "so... well... abused."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Draco turned his head to look at Ron, finding him staring at his backside still.

"Does it hurt," Ron pressed his finger against him, and a pleasurable shiver ran through the pale body, "here? It looks so sore... I should've prepared you first..." he started muttering, more to himself than to Draco, "Merlin I'm such an idiot and..."

"Ron, shut it," Draco snapped, burying his face in his pillow again, "I'm perfectly fine—I'm not in pain. It's only normal it looks a bit chaffed. We're just done shagging you moron."

"Are you sure?" Ron bit his lip in doubt, and Draco turned on his side.

With a quick move he yanked the redhead down and kissed him deeply.

"I'd tell you if I wasn't," he murmured, and he felt Ron's hands hold his hips, reconnecting their lips.

"Okay," when they parted Ron was smiling, "now," he put the washcloth to the side, and slid his hands down the fragile hips, over Draco's thighs, "let's get these sticky stockings off."

His nimble fingers undid the small clasps connecting the fabric to the garter, and Draco allowed himself to relax under the cautious touch. Ron cupped the pale thighs and brought his hands under the stockings so he could slide them down, leaving sweet kisses on the damp skin. Then he followed the path with his towel, whipping away the sweat. He repeated the motion on the other side as well, and Draco felt his body cooling down, now that it wasn't wet with sweat anymore. Then Ron reached back for the washcloth and cleaned the boy's stomach—undoing the garters at the side. Draco yawned and stretched delicately as Ron went back into the bathroom.

When the redhead returned Draco looked up at him—and immediately started chuckling.

"What?" Ron frowned and jumped onto the bed next to him—all his bits wiggling cutely.

"It's seems to me like you forgot something freckles," Draco teasingly ran a finger up the boy's own abdomen, where some sweat and other fluids were gathered.

Ron stuck out his tongue—_the second time today! I'll have to teach him a lesson_—and dipped down his head to kiss the blonde.

"Ronald," Molly's voice rang through the house, the boys parting reluctantly, "get dressed! Harry's going to be here soon!"

...and Draco could feel something breaking inside.

**AN: because somehow I can't stand Harry right now, he won't be the only character joining us next chapter. Review and beg for more –muhahahaha!-**


	11. Brave and Break

11. Brave and Break

**AN: JaceDamian23, I'd love to say that this is for you... but it's actually just a coincidence ^^ You'll get it later on... I hope :P Well, enjoy – all of you enjoy ! – but you especially, 'kay :)**

Draco made it a point to not be jealous. He tried to not be jealous—even when Ron grinned as he went downstairs to be in time to greet Harry. He needed to _not_ be jealous. So he snuck back to his own room so that he could dress in silence.

He was just buttoning his dark blue, tight jeans, when Molly's voice called for him. He decided to keep the white shirt—_the sex-shirt,_ and he inwardly smirked—on, and headed down, repeating to himself: _do not be jealous_.

"Goodmorning darling," greeted Molly, and he ignored how the happy chatter—coming from Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny—stilled as he entered, "there's a package for you. Breakfast's on the table."

"Thank you misses Weasley," he flopped down on the chair next to Ginny's, opposite to Ron, where a plate had been set for him.

He could feel Pothead, who was next to Ron, staring at him but ignored it, _like a fine Malfoy_, and buttered some toast. A small present was set on the table with his name on it in dark-green letters—he immediately realised who it was from and started grinning.

"Who's it from sweetheart?" Molly asked, looking over her shoulder as he ripped off the paper to reveal...

"Blaise," Draco smirked, taking the present in his hand as he bit down on his toast, "only he's daft enough to buy me a cellphone."

"That's nice dear," she came over with her frying pan, scooping bacon onto all of their plates, "is it your birthday?"

"No," Draco quickly glanced at the card that came with it, "but Blaise's weird that way."

She smiled and went back to the stove, starting on making breakfast for the others—who were probably still sleeping. As he poured himself a cup of tea, Draco read the instructions that came with the card, written in his best friend's shabby handwriting. He did as the note said, and not five seconds later Blaise's voice rang through the phone. Still smirking he said: "you're _such_ a twat, what is it? Letters too common for you Zabini?"

"_Shut it,"_ the other's voice commented, and Draco could hear the smirk—making him want to smile because he hadn't heard that voice in so long, _"I'm being nice."_

"No you're not," Draco chuckled, reaching over for the sugar, "you're trying to buy my love. I'm no whore, thank you very much."

"_Although I must admit that I am rather horny at the moment, I'm not trying to force you __into having sex Dray."_

"Good, cause you're not getting any," he took a piece of bacon and swayed with his knife as if Blaise could see him, "you should've bought me diamonds. They would've earned you a handjob."

He heard Blaise groan loudly—saw Molly's appalled look—and laughed aloud.

"_You are such a tease!" _

"What can I say? You bought me a phone, rich bastard."

"_It's my way of saying sorry,"_ Blaise suddenly sounded very serious, but _I ignore it and eat more toast,_ _"please forgive me."_

"That depends," Draco pulled his legs up to his chest, "what are you saying sorry for?"

"_Because I wasn't there for you,"_ a small pause, _"I should've been there when..."_

Draco interrupted him, voice hard because _it still hurts._

"My parents died Blaise, unless you can resurrect people there's not much you could've done," he tried to sound matter-of-factly but knew Blaise would know better.

"_But I wanted to be there to..."_

No. _It still hurts._

"Stop whining," he snapped, irritated, because _dammit, take a hint, I don't want to go through this,_ "contrary to popular believes Dumbledore didn't dump me in an alley somewhere. I get fed on descent timings and I have my own bed. I'm okay Blaise, I don't need you for that."

"_But I..."_

"No," he glared at the phone and Blaise stilled immediately—he could hear the boy move on his bed—and he saw Harry and Hermione exchange looks from the corner of his eye. Instead he focused on which marmalade to chose, "dammit Blaise! You're my friend because you have no mercy. Don't go weak on me now. You're the only one that tells me to toughen up and kick ass because you know I can. Suck it up already."

"_Fine,"_ he heard a deep sigh, _"I miss you Dray."_

"Oh, I miss you too," he sipped from his cup of tea, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could scoop up red marmalade with his knife, "and now stop being so gay."

"_I am what I am Dray,"_ Blaise chuckled.

"I know you are, but try to control your poofiness until you find a boy to fuck," he got another look from Molly and coughed, "you know, I was actually just having breakfast. Can I call you back later?"

"_Sure, I'll find myself a boy to fuck,"_ he could once more hear the smirk through Blaise's voice, and rolled his eyes.

"Blaise, I really did not need to know that," then he smiled, "have a good shag."

"_Oh, I will,"_ there was a chuckle and Draco grinned, _"bye Love!"_

"Yeah, yeah, bye," Draco put the phone away in his pocket and continued eating his toast in silence, pretending he didn't see Molly's mother-bird pose.

"Honestly mister Malfoy," he looked up, fake-curious eyes and she lightly shook her head, "you have to clean up your language love."

"What's wrong with my language?" He asked innocently and bit down into his toast.

She sighed.

"All those indecent words you use—talking to your friends, nonetheless!" She fixed him a look that clearly stated she expected him to start talking Shakespearian English and call people _my lady_ and _good sir_.

"But I behaved," Draco protested—Ginny snickered softly, "I didn't use any bad words this time!"

"Darling, you used the f-word multiple times," she stated tiredly.

"The f-word," he frowned, "oh, you mean fuck?"

"Oh mister Malfoy," she glared at him and threw her towel onto the counter, "you're just insufferable!"

With that she left—but not before sighing one more time as Draco called: "is fuck the f-word or not?"

He inwardly smiled happily as he heard her go upstairs—she was just too much fun when she was annoyed—and dipped a slice of toast in his egg-yolk.

Suddenly he noticed how silent the kitchen was. He looked up and noticed everyone was staring at him—Granger and Potter looked pissed, and Ginny was smiling at his... shirt?

"What're you looking at Weaslette?" He demanded with a frown.

"I like your shirt," she reached out to touch it, but when she saw his glare she reconsidered, "where did you get it?"

"It was my father's," he replied in monotone, stirring his tea as he added another sugar, "I have no idea where he got it. And it's a bit too late to ask I guess."

"Your father has very..." she started but Draco snapped.

"Not a word. I know what you're going to say, don't."

"I was going to say he had good taste," she grinned.

"No you weren't," Draco looked at her accusingly, "you were going to say he had gay taste."

"Perhaps," she chuckled, "but that doesn't matter—the shirt looks very good on blondes."

"Stop flirting with me Weaslette," Draco drank some of his tea and pointed his toast at her, "you can't have me anyway."

"Don't flatter yourself," she reverted her eyes as if contradicting her own words—Draco smirked.

"I don't have to, you do that for me."

"You're imagining things!" She stated hot-headedly.

"If I am than why are you blushing?" He asked—but at that exact moment her rescue came in the form of two oldest brothers.

"Goodmorning," Charlie entered the kitchen in his worn-down jeans and tee, and he waved at Harry, "heya Harry."

Ginny immediately looked up at them instead, avoiding Hermione's cautious eye—Ron looked a bit angry. Harry smiled at the brothers and ignored Draco.

"Hey Harry," Bill followed immediately after, flopping down next to Draco after he'd stomped Harry's shoulder in a friendly fashion. As always his hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and he was wearing jeans like his brother, though with a red pullover.

"Wait a minute," Charlie frowned, flopping onto the chair next to Ron's, opposite Bill's, "why do you get to sit next to Draco?"

"Because I was first to notice he's half-naked," Draco's eyes widened and he turned to the bickering brothers, "besides, I have dibs on the Draco-chair."

"I'm not half-naked," Draco growled, "and what the fuck is the _Draco-chair_?"

"The one next to yours," Charlie took a piece of toast from the stack, "and your shoulder is sorta showing."

The blonde hastily pulled up his t-shirt a bit, but it was no use, as the other sleeve fell down to reveal his shoulder instead.

"What happened to those shorts you used to wear," Bill teased, "they were very amusing."

"I was sick of you guys ogling me all the time," the blonde said with a fake-sigh, "who knows—you might suddenly decide to molest my poor body and then what would I do?"

"Behave mister Malfoy! So early and you're already frisky!" Charlie mocked.

"Did you shower this morning?" Bill suddenly asked, completely out-of-the-blue, "'cause you smell like sex."

"I do not!" Draco's mouth opened in outrage, and he flung his piece of toast at the older redhead—it seemed that this had become a frequent joke between the three of them, and he just couldn't resisit—he could hear Ginny giggling softly as Bill ducked and the piece hit the wall instead.

"You do actually," she smirked.

"How would you know," he glared at her, "you don't even know what sex smells like."

"I've been to your room," she snapped back, "and since you shag like rabbits I am now aware of what sex smells like."

Charlie gulped down his coffee and added: "it smells like you."

"How dare you assume I had sex," Draco took another piece of toast, buttering it evenly, "I'm completely innocent."

Bill snorted. Charlie opened his mouth to talk when Molly's angry voice suddenly called: "GINNY! Where are you!" They heard her come down the stairs and Ginny looked at Hermione in fright, as if the bushy brunette knew what her mum wanted, "these better not be yours!"

Molly entered the kitchen, holding something in front of her as if it was toxic—her arm outstretched completely—her free hand was holding her wand and it was pointing at the object.

She was holding the black, sticky, _oh fuck!_, stockings and garters. The sex-stocking-and-garters. Which had gotten... _dirty_ during Draco and Ron's ministrations. Draco instantly started laughing, not being able to contain himself—he could see Ron's face getting red from the corner of his eye—and everyone stared at him, Molly included.

"Mister Malfoy, what..." realisation downed on her and her eyes widened, "oh Merlin," her wand emitted a blue glow and the stocking disappeared, "they're yours!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Draco swore, throwing his hands up in defeat, "seriously I don't..." he saw that she wasn't buying it and sighed, "okay fine, they're mine."

"You wear garters?" Both Pothead and Charlie said at the same time—though in a completely different tone.

"Sex-garters!" Molly shrieked, before Draco could answer.

"Not sex-garters," Draco objected, now focussing back on the redheaded woman, "I didn't... well I mean..."

"You have sex in garters," Bill groaned and Draco glared at him, "damn you!"

"I do not!" He lied, and Molly put her hand in her hip.

"Well I can assure you the stain won't come out that easily mister Malfoy," she bit angrily.

"No, no, you don't understand," Draco shook his head helplessly, turning to her again, "I didn't throw them in the hamper! I was going to burn them, seriously, I don't need them!"

"It would be a waste to throw them out Love," her tone softened, now just scolding at the idea of burning expensive lingerie, "you should keep them if you like wearing them."

He heard Potter laugh but ignored it.

"I don't like wearing them—it was a one time only thing," he said defensively.

"Someone must've liked you wearing them, if they made your lover co—" Bill started but Draco snapped at him.

"Shaddup, you're not helping here!"

"I'll just wash them," misses Weasley said and she turned to the hallway, deciding that anyways she should be happy they hadn't been Ginny's.

"No wait!" But she'd left already. Draco cursed, _dammit, stupid garters!_ "Ugh."

"Oh don't fret," Bill patted his shoulder, "you'll see your beloved garters back soon enough."

"Shut up," Draco glared, slapping the hand away, "I never want to see those wretched things again."

"Was the sex that bad?" Charlie teased.

"Poor Draco," Bill dropped in.

"No," the blonde stood, taking his plate, "the sex was really good and not a word cause you're not getting any. I actually wonder what makes you think I need to be involved in your conversations. You have a fine thing going between you—go forth and indulge yourselves with some incestuous behaviour."

Charlie laughed, though his cheeks reddened slightly as he saw Bill smirk.

"Oh, and if you do," he whipped his plate clean, and set it in the sink, "let me know if it's true what they say."

"What do they say?" Bill asked curiously.

Draco headed out the door, smirking: "that incest is best when brothers say: 'YES!'"

He could hear them laughing all the way upstairs, and _if I just pretend that not being able to touch that red hair doesn't hurt I'll be okay_.

--

"Misses Weasley?" Draco opened the door to the laundry-room, finding the oldest Weaslette on her knees in front of the washing machine.

"What is it dear?" She didn't even look up, her voice chipper as always.

Draco nervously shifted, and sat himself on one of the machines in the room—_what is it? Why am I here?_

"I..." he began, then coughed when he found he didn't know what to say.

She turned to him in question, and smiled as if he was someone she cared deeply for—someone she hadn't seen in so long, someone she'd missed. He swallowed thickly.

"It's okay love," she turned back to her work, emptying a hamper, "it'll be fine."

"How did you know I—" he started—because _why is it so easy for her to feel what I feel?_

"I'm a mother love," she laughed softly, "knowing what in-distress teenagers mean without them saying a thing is like a day job to me."

"My mother never..." he paused. Suddenly the room seemed cold and he shivered slightly—her gaze turned to him again, meeting his and she let out a delicate sigh, standing, "I..."

"Don't worry," she came over and wrapped her arms around him a warm hug—before he knew it he'd buried his face in her neck and he thought he might be crying but he couldn't know because he felt safe, "just give it some time," he nodded deftly, her arms keeping him closely pressed to her chest—and _why did my mum never hold me like this?_ "He'll just need time."

Draco figured he could understand. When your friend is as shitty as Potter, no brains and no catch, he figured it was only natural you needed to warm them up to the idea of dating their arch nemesis. Not that that was in any way fair, of course—but all Draco wanted was Ron, so it'd have to do.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" He asked when they parted—she ruffled his hair sweetly.

"Well, if you could wake up Sirius," she asked as if she really didn't want to—as if she didn't want to make him do anything he didn't want to, "and maybe do some of the dishes I would..."

"Sure," he grinned widely, taking a shuddering breath nonetheless, proving that he's not okay and he's beginning to slowly break, "thank you," he turned away before she might notice his lack of strength, and left the room.

He took a deep breath before heading to Sirius' room—the last thing he wanted was to cry in front of the older man, who was so energetic, had been through so much, yet Draco had never once seen him weak.

Draco entered Sirius' room without knocking, finding the curtains drawn open, sun streaming in. Remus was still asleep, him and Sirius tightly cuddled together in a heap. He could see their faces, the only parts visible of their bodies, Remus' resting in the crock of Sirius' neck. The raven had his chin tucked on top of Remus' head, and they were both lost in a deep slumber. Pausing momentarily, Draco closed the door and went over to the oldest man's side of the bed, sitting down—not that it mattered anyways, since they were lying in the absolute middle.

He poked Sirius' back, making the man flinch away from the touch. When he poked again, Sirius groggily murmured: "neh, Remi, 'm too tired for another round."

And Draco wanted to laugh, but instead he sobbed.

Sirius turned around at the pathetic sound, alarming Remus who followed the man's movements, even in his sleep.

"Draco..." Sirius murmured, opening his eyes tiredly, "is something wrong?"

"No, I..." Draco drew a shuddering breath, his whole figure racking, "I was supposed to wake you and do the dishes and..."

"Draco, what's wrong?" Sirius untangled himself from the sheets and tried to sit up, now concerned about the blonde's wellbeing—the boy let out a sob and buried his eyes in his palms.

"I don't know," he started crying full out and Sirius bit his lip, "I just... don't know."

"Draco it's okay, come here," Sirius pushed the spread away, his own body still covered in a thin, white blanket, and pulled Draco into his arms. The man's torso was naked, but that didn't stop him from hugging the blonde tight into his chest, "lie down, come on," Remus mumbled something incoherently and he opened his eyes—not knowing what was going on, but he immediately made room for the blonde. Sirius pulled him in between their bodies and held him as he cried softly, "it's okay, we're here, don't you cry."

As soon as Remus was awake enough to understand that Draco was in their bed, crying, he turned onto his side to rub comforting circles onto the boy's back. He could see his tender frame shaking with tension, his sobs muffled somewhat.

"I'm so sorry," he apologised softly—_because I'm not supposed to be this weak._

"Draco, listen to me," Sirius murmured into the blonde hair, and Draco nodded deftly, his tears leaving wet streaks on the man's chest, "your parents died and I know you're in pain but we care very deeply for you and we want you to be okay. I'm going to be here for you for as long as I possibly can be Draco," he kissed his forehead and Draco curled himself up into a ball, tears flowing harder—_and I can feel their arms around me and it's okay but I'm broken,_ "but I don't ever want you to be sorry for crying. I know it's so shaming when you break down in front of someone, but I for one value the ability to show your weaknesses over the ability to always keep up appearances. There is _no need_ to lie to the people that care for you Draco—it's not _bad_ to cry."

And Draco realised he was right—when they curled him up into an even tighter embrace he wanted to smile and be okay again, because he wanted them to be okay as well and he wanted to tell them he was fine and it was all good, but _I can't_. Because even if knowing they cared for him felt good—_they're not dad. And their hugs aren't his and neither are their kisses to my forehead. And I want to kill whoever did this to me—_he would sell his soul to sleep well at night.

**AN: Gosh, I'm so sorry about the incest thing. While writing I was just reminded of the FF thing (Incest is best when brothers say: "YES!") it was too good to resist.**

**I am so not getting enough reviews for this thing... I'm working my ass off here ! As for me not liking Harry right now – it's just cause he's making it hard for Dray and Ron to shag, that's all ^^**

**As you guys have noticed, the 'new' character is Blaise – even if right now he comes in the form of a phone, he's definitely smexy enough to pull it off. No hating my Blaise (if you do, feel free to tell me why) cause I made him gay and flamboyant, and he's staying that way !**

**I probably should've dubbed this fic 'it's a gay world we live in' or something :P Would've been more appropriate, ah... but whatever ^^ review please *pats head***


	12. Friends and Foes

12. Friends and Foes

**AN: this is for Alexandros Black – thank you for still being awake at 5am your time :)**

Draco pretended no such thing as _people_ existed and entered the kitchen, resolutely heading over to the sink. He pretended not to notice how suddenly the happy voices went silent again, pretended not to notice Potter was glaring.

Instead he just took the first plate and whipped the remaining food into the trashcan. He repeated the process several times, setting the plates aside one by one. Then he drew the sink full, adding some of the green soap that stood by the side—figuring that would get the plates clean. Ginny seemed rather interested in this new development, and he could see her looking at him. Harry and Hermione were staring too—Ron's eyes averted.

When he felt something vibrating against his leg he nearly dropped the plate he was holding in shock.

"What the..." he blinked twice before realising his phone was ringing. Fishing it from his pocket he pushed the plates with the cutlery into the sink, "hello?"

"_Dray! You done having breakfast?"_

"Mmm," he nodded, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear, "I am now officially doing the dishes."

"_How cute! Do you do this often?"_ Blaise teased.

"Oh no, it's a recent hobby of mine," Draco found a sponge at the side of the sink and took one of the plates, "I've decided I want babies, oh love, won't you have mine?

He heard Blaise laugh, then he said: _"I refuse to be your bitch. You'll be the one carrying the babies!"_

"I'm not bending over for you Blaise. You're bottoming, or no deal," when he had thoroughly cleaned the plate, he dipped it into the clean water, letting the soap wash away, "I want shoes."

"_Shoes? What do you mean you want shoes__, I thought you wanted babies?"_

"I changed my mind," Draco shrugged, "I feel like buying shoes. I think I'm bored."

"_But you're doing the dishes,"_ he just knew Blaise was frowning.

"Yeah, I am," the blonde started on another plate, "I'm in a bad mood. Hence the need for shoes."

"_I knew you sounded pouty!"_ Blaise said triumphantly.

"I don't sound pouty," Draco objected, "I sound like someone who's doing the dishes."

"_Hah, Dray you..."_ there was a slight pause and Blaise whispered: _"no baby, it's okay, stay."_

"Blaise..." Draco set the plate down, "are you in bed?"

He could hear Ginny laugh. Blaise simply said: _"yeah."_

"Is there someone with you?"

"_...yes."_

"Goddammit Blaise!" Draco swore, banging his fist into the counter, "you can't call me while you're having sex, you wanker!"

"_I'm done having sex Dray, I promise!"_

"How did you even find someone to have sex _with_," Draco shook his head in aggravation, taking a new plate, "it's barely ten!"

"_Our housekeeper has a cute son,"_ Blaise said matter-of-factly.

"You shag your housekeeper's son? How contributively of you," he finished with the last pate and set it in the clean water with the rest, turning around to lean against the sink as he dried his hands, "I'm sure you're making the world a whole better place."

"_Don't be so grim,"_ Blaise laughed nonchalantly, _"it's just all in good spirits!"_

"Oh, I'm sure your housekeeper will feel the same way when she finds out you're doing her son," Draco shifted the phone to his other ear, still holding the towel, "or does your mum pay her extra so that she wouldn't complain?"

"_Hey, I do not pay for sex,"_ Draco heard a small grunt, _"right baby?"_ a chuckle, _"I just like sex. And he's always here anyway."_

"You're gonna get in trouble for that Blaise, seriously," Draco rolled his eyes, "it's not right to shag the housekeeper's kids. Nothing good ever comes from it anyways."

"_Stop being dramatic,"_ Blaise sighed, _"I just like sex—it's not like you'd understand."_

Draco stayed silent, because, _actually, I do_. The silence reigned for ten full seconds, then...

"_OH MY GOD!"_ Blaise's shriek was so shrill Draco spontaneously dropped the phone.

"Fuck, Blai—"

"_YOU HAD SEX!"_ he yelled so loud Draco wouldn't be surprised if they heard him in the next house as well—the other teens in the kitchen looked at him intently.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he picked up the phone, feigning innocence.

"_Oh please! The silence said it all!"_ Draco could imagine Blaise pointing a guilty finger at him, and smiled at the mental-image.

"Of course I didn't have sex," Draco stated in his isn't-it-obvious-tone, "I would never do that. Pffrt, sex."

"_You lying bas—"_ Blaise was interrupted when Draco started making weird cracking noses.

"I'm sorry—have to go!" he exclaimed, "the house is going through a tunnel!"

"_You bi—"_ he clasped the phone shut and put it on the counter, taking the clean plates out of the water.

"The house is going through a tunnel?" Harry's voice mocked, and Draco did his best not to yell, "how creative of you."

"Ah well, what can I say? I'm a genius in that way," Draco turned his head to look at the raven, but found nothing but four teens, staring.

"Do you always lie to your friends?" Ginny asked.

"He's not stupid—of course he knows houses can't go through tunnels," and _pretend not to know what she really means._

"I meant about the not-having-sex thing," she said.

"Oh," he turned, meeting her glance straight-on, "no, this is the first time I lied about not having sex."

"Because of course it's a shame that you had sex?" she tipped up her eyebrows, and _is she being protective over her brother, or just bitchy?_

"The first time you have sex you won't wanna tell your friends over the phone Love," he tipped up his eyebrows as well, though much more refined, _because this is a standard Malfoy-look,_ "you'll want to giggle about it and go into detail. Blaise's as gay as gay can be—he deserves to hear me squeal as we discuss lengths."

Her mouth dropped. He turned to dry off the rest of the plates.

--

The next day—after a night of not-sleeping at all and constantly wondering what Ron would be doing with every second that passed, though he denied this _of course_—Draco was enjoying a quiet moment on the sofa, or, as quiet as it could get. At least the other teenagers weren't there to suddenly go still as he entered the room. He was deeply indulged in one of his potions books when he heard Harry and Ron talking in the hallway, coming over to the living room. He flipped a page as the boys entered, Harry chuckling at something Ron had just said—and then the couch was dipping in next to him. As he looked up he realised Sirius had joined them.

"So," Sirius started, bright smile as always, "I heard you've been having very indecent conversations with a certain Slytherin.

"Oh yes," Draco said, voice dripping with sarcasm as he flipped another page, "we had phonesex on the counter earlier. I deeply apologise, of course."

"Do you miss him?" Sirius grinned.

"Is that a trick question?" Draco set his book down, marking the page with his slender fingers, "because he's my best friend. Of course I miss him."

"So I was thinking maybe he should come over," Sirius shrugged, "maybe tomorrow? He can stay the night."

"Haha," Draco laughed—then he noticed Sirius wasn't laughing and his face dropped, "you're serious?"

"Yes," the man nodded.

"For real?"

"Draco, is there any reason Blaise _shouldn't_ come over?" Sirius raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"Are you sure you wanna be in one house with two crazy Slytherins?" Draco blinked—_not that he's never been in one house with two crazy Slytherins before... but we're really crazy._

"I'm sure I wanna be in one house with two crazy Slytherins," Sirius laughed when Draco's face lit up.

"Thank you..." the blonde grinned widely. Suddenly he paused, eyeing Sirius somewhat warily, "is it okay if I hug you?"

"I'd be insulted if you didn't!" Sirius smirked.

Draco wrapped his arms around the man, his book slipping and falling to the floor, but he didn't care. He grinned wider when he felt Sirius sigh happily—_so sentimental_—and giddily pulled the blonde closer.

"I'll ask him right away," Draco was still grinning when they separated, and he took his phone and dialled his friend's number, waiting until he heard a click.

"_Hey Dray,"_ Blaise sounded remarkably out of breath, _"what's up?"_

"I was just wondering if..." the smile on his face faded as he paused when he heard a moan. His eyes widened, "oh Merlin," he extended his arm in shock, bringing the phone as far away from his ear as possible—Sirius blinking in surprise, "you're having sex!"

"What?" Sirius' eyes widened as well and he tried to take the phone from Draco's hand—of course he only did this to save him from anything scandalizing!—accidentally pushing the speaker button and... a loud moan reverberated through the room, just as Hermione and Ginny entered—all five Gryffindors turned to Draco as he continued to stare at the muggle device, appalled.

"_Shh baby,"_ Blaise's voice sounded through, deep and husky, _"don't move... ahn,"_ another moan was heard, coming from a second voice—this one shriller than Blaise's, _"Dray just wait a sec."_

Draco could do nothing but gape.

"_Wait baby,"_ they heard shifting and a soft groan, _"like this—stay here baby, don't move,"_ another shift and a low moan, _"Dray what..."_

"Why the hell do you pick up the phone when you're having sex!" Draco yelled, glaring at the device as it rested innocently in Sirius' hand still.

"_I figured you were having an—ahn—emergency and..."_

"Stop making sex-noises!" Draco squeaked out in distress, "I don't wanna hear your sex-voice!"

"_Just one sec Dray,"_ Blaise seemed to not have heard Draco at all, and they heard a giggle, _"hush baby, be quiet, if he hears you too he'll..."_

"Oh my God!" Draco's mouth dropped, "that was a third voice!"

Blaise groaned in obvious dissatisfaction.

"_Baby, if you'll feel more comfortable if I stop having sex, just say so."_

"Don't call me baby, you bitch!" Draco folded his arms in front of his chest—knowing somehow that Blaise could _feel_ that he was doing so, "you call your sextoys baby."

"_Whatever l__ove,"_ there was another shuffle and a sudden outcry.

"_Hn! Blaise!"_

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Stop having sex, this instant!" he demanded.

"_One sec l__ove,"_ Blaise voice was gruff with arousal and they heard a small whine coming from one of the other boys, _"don't move baby, and you, don't touch those—I'll be right back,"_ a bed creaked and there was an incoherent groan, _"don't pout honey, put that mouth to better use,"_ Draco just knew he was smirking.

"God, you bastard," he started as soon as they heard a door close, "how could you pick up the phone while you were in the middle of a bloody threesome!"

"_Well I figured a cat was eating you or somethin' Dray."_

"A cat was eating me?" Draco rolled his eyes, "liar! You just wanted me to hear your sex-voice! This was all an evil plot!"

"_Baby I wouldn't force my sex-voice upon you,"_ Blaise laughed, _"now tell me what's going on."_

"Oh no, I don't want to anymore," Draco shook his head childishly—Sirius grinned.

"_Dray, you did not make me... I..."_ he sounded utterly appalled, _"I was... I stalled damn good sex for you Dray, so you tell me now or I swear to God I will bestow my horny wrath on you!"_

"Fine," Draco huffed, "I was wondering if you'd like to come over?"

"_Only if I can finish there,__" _Blaise stated bluntly.

"Ieuw Blaise, not now," Draco chuckled besides himself, "tomorrow... or after that. You can stay the night—if you think you can go without sex for that long."

"_Do I get to share your bed?"_ the leer in his voice was thick and Draco rolled his eyes again.

"I think you should go back to your threesome."

"_Do I?"_

Draco sighed.

"Fine," he gave in.

"_Well thank you Dray,"_ he laughed again, _"you just gave me two rounds extra—feel free to join if you find the time."_

"No thank you Blaise," Draco teased, "some other time."

"_How gallant of you,"_ Blaise put on a girly voice and gave a fake-giggle, _"after all these years of saving myself for you..."_

"Right you are, your ass is mine," Blaise pretended to swoon and Draco laughed, "go have sex already, you stupid fag."

"_Why thank you Dray, so polite to finally give me your permission to fuck those two little blondes into next week."_

"They're not blondes," Draco glared again, "you're joshing me."

"_Well actually—"_ Blaise began.

"Not a word!" Draco snapped—Blaise laughed and with that Draco pressed the button with the red phone.

He scowled as he noticed the Gryffindors' shocked expressions.

"Don't look at me like that! It's not my fault he was having sex!"

"Now Draco," Sirius started, and he put the phone down on the armrest, pretending that _whatever the hell that was_, it hadn't just happened, "I think it's obvious we've come to a point where I see it as my duty to..."

"Oh no," Draco groaned, "Sirius, we're not trying to have the sex-talk again."

"But this time I'm prepared," Sirius protested, and Ron and Harry chuckled at his childish, stubborn demeanour, "with what Blaise being the horniest Slytherin on earth."

"Actually, your brother was the horniest Slytherin on earth," Draco interrupted, "then comes my dad, and then Severus... I'm not even sure if Blaise's in the top five."

"Oh gosh," Sirius trembled unpleasantly, "no mental images please."

"I'm just saying," Draco shrugged, picking up his book, "that Blaise is not the horniest Slytherin."

"I must say our conversations tend to make no sense whatsoever."

"Who's fault would that be?" Draco gave the man a clear look, then returned to the faded words in his book.

--

For two days and tree nights Draco felt miserable. He didn't even get a chance to speak to Ron—not that he wanted to, since the boy didn't even bother telling him whether or not they'd ever be spending time together—let stand have really nice, _ow God!_ sex with the boy. He woke up every morning all alone in bed and it broke him because he knew Ron wasn't alone. Ron had someone with him and Draco didn't and that hurt—which was such a lie because he never minded being alone, it was just that Ron was doing Merlin-knows-what with Potter and apparently that was more fun than spending the night with Draco.

On the third day Draco woke up early in the morning. He felt excited to see Blaise again after so long—and for the first time in those couple of days he didn't mind waking up. Of course the house was already bustling with noise—every so often he'd hear thumps coming from the third floor but he knew that the twins slept right above his room, so weird noises didn't surprise him.

He was drying himself off in his bedroom after a long shower, when he heard people coming down the hall. He didn't really pay any mind to it though, since he was listening to music and focussing on fixing his hair. A towel was tied loosely around his waist, and he hummed along to the tunes of 'when I'm sixty-four' as he laid out all his jeans on the bed—well, all his favourite jeans, because all his jeans wouldn't fit—and made up outfits in his head.

He was so busy he didn't even hear Ron say: "no! That's Ma—" interrupted as Harry turned the doorknob, curious as to what the room was used for. They stilled when they saw the half-naked blonde—and Draco in turn stilled as he saw the door open.

"What do you want?" he asked—not even with a sneer, he was way too happy to sneer.

"I..." Potter stuttered inarticulately, but Draco paid no mind to it, focusing instead on his clothes again. He really wanted to look good for when Blaise arrived—and no, not only so Ron would be jealous! "I wanted to see what room this was."

"Aha," Draco nodded, and he was really too excited to even send them away. Instead he tapped his foot and huffed irritated, not knowing which jeans to choose, then suddenly: "oh, shorts!"

He felt the urge to squeal but refrained and walked over to his drawer, opening it to look for a pair of black shorts he'd bought on his wild shopping spree.

"Erm..." he heard the doubt in Pothead's voice, and triumphantly pulled the dark jeans-shorts out, "may I ask what you're doing."

"Dressing, obviously," he went to the drawer under the first, and pulled out a fresh pair of underwear. He pulled on the boxer-briefs under his towel, then simply stepped out of the cloth and went over to the bed, tossing his short onto it. He paused, "hmm. Shirt," and turned to the wardrobe, pushing through the clothes, "button down, or tee?" he frowned when faced with the dilemma.

"So, this is your room?" Draco vaguely wondered why Pothead was being so interested—but when he turned around to look at him the only thing interesting was the feral look Ron had on his face, now, of course, Draco wouldn't be Draco if he didn't take advantage of that.

He turned completely and put a hand on his hip, tipping his body to one side so he was sure his curvy waist was accentuated and his abdomen taut. His hand ran through his hair and he tipped up his eyebrows.

"No, of course not," he said sarcastically, "I make it a point to shower and dress in other people's room," he made sure not to miss the way Ron licked his lips when he swayed his body to the other side, "feel free to look around. Just no touchy."

Potter gladly took the invitation, stepping completely inside the room, his eyes going over all the objects on Draco's desk and bookcases. Ron stayed somewhat nervously by the door—though his look never left Draco, as the blonde went back to his wardrobe. Suddenly he heard his phone buzz and quickly took it from the dresser.

"Keep your panties on, I'm getting dressed," he knew immediately who it was.

"_Oh, how far are you?"_ Blaise asked.

"I've officially got underwear," Draco smirked, pausing in the rummaging of his closet to look at a grey t-shirt, "now all the rest."

"_I thought we agreed you'd be naked,"_ Blaise pretended to be insulted.

"We agreed no such thing you prick," Draco laughed, "I said _I_'d be naked if _you_ were naked but you _can't_ be naked since you're taking public transport, so there you have it. No nakedness."

"_Pff, at least wear something sexy like suspenders!"_

"Since when are suspenders sexy?" Draco took a white t-shirt from its hanger and put it on the bed with his short, wondering if it'd match—Potter was blinking at him dumbly, as if he was doing something the boy had never seen done before.

"_Oh come on! A cute boy with suspenders hanging loose over his ass is dead sexy!"_ the blonde could hear him grin, _"that's an ass that's begging to be touched."_

"But my ass doesn't beg to be touched," Draco frowned, taking his short off the bed.

"_Fine,"_ Blaise grumbled, _"but you better be sexy!"_

"Are you insinuating that there are times when I'm not sexy Zabini? Think carefully about what you say next," he fake-threatened into the phone, pulling the short up over his knees.

He tightened the hold of his shoulder on the phone and tugged the short up over his thighs, buttoning it up nicely.

"_Of course not, I meant extra-sexy,"_ that made Draco chuckle, and he mentally went over a list of all the belts he had, _"what're you doing now baby?"_

"Choosing a belt," going back to his drawer he took a silver belt with a skull-buckle and fit it around his waist, when suddenly he got a glimpse of his own ass and he stopped, shock evident on his face, "oh Merlin! I don't have an ass!"

"_What?"_ Blaise sounded confused—Harry laughed and Ron blushed.

"It's none-existent. I'm flat as a board!"

"_Liar,"_ Blaise chuckled, _"you have an ass, it's nice and curvy."_

"But—" Draco began, but Blaise interrupted: _"you have a nice ass, good and round. So either you're psming or you haven't had sex in a couple of days."_

Draco sulked, stepping away from the rotten mirror.

"Yeah, you're right..." he glared at it one more time, and then went over to his bed to take the white t-shirt.

"_Don't worry, I'll be there soon to cheer you up!"_ Blaise promised, _"the bus' almost there, so you better be undressing again!"_

"I'm not gonna be naked," Draco glared at the phone, turning to the mirror again. The shirt was barely long enough so it didn't reached his belt, pieces of skin showing—which was what Draco was aiming for, after all. The sleeves were short as well, leaving three-quarters of his arms bare. The shorts covered up his ass but didn't reach much further than below the curve, just covering his underwear, so most of his legs were still visible. He hummed in contentment, and went back to his dresser, "I've managed to fully dress, thank you."

"_You're no fun,"_ Blaise was pouting, but all Draco did was chuckle in reply. He got out a black waistcoat and fitted it over the shirt, seaming it in at the back using the little clasp there, _"I've just gotten off the bus, hurry your ass over here."_

The blonde grinned and snapped his phone shut, throwing it on the bed. He turned to Potter.

"Come on, out you go," swishing him to the door. The raven frowned but didn't protest as Draco closed the door and locked it, jogging over to the staircase. He could hear Ron and Harry following him—but right now, he really didn't care, and practically skipped down the stairs. When he reached the hallway he could hear noise coming from the kitchen, Molly just calling for everyone with the announcement that breakfast was ready, but he went on to the door.

_Ron and Harry are still in the hall but fuck them__—_taking a deep breath he opened the front door.

**AN: muhahaha ! *evil laugh* Beg for it !**


	13. Pleased and Pissed

13. Pleased and Pissed

**AN: for Alexandros Black, for being there when meh baby died. And reminding me that not only slut-stamps are sexy, but piercings have their pro's too! I'm plainly giving this to you because you're nice and you make me smile. I suppose that suffices as a dedication-reason. **

**WARNING: a scene in this chapter is rated M.**

Draco barely had time to register what was going on, because one minute he was opening the door, and the other something solid and Blaise-like was hugging him to death.

"Merlin Dray, I missed you!" the boy exclaimed gleefully, practically in awe at being able to hold the blonde again.

"Blaise, get off, you're choking me," although he refused to admit it, seeing his best friend again after such a long time felt really good.

"Sorry," they parted, the dark face broadened in a huge grin. His eyes trailed over the blonde's body and he whistled, licking his lips, "why is it that every time I see you, you get sexier? And man," he sighed wistfully, and Draco's cheeks reddened a bit at the praise, "your ass really isn't none-existent Dray."

Draco frowned, but Blaise remained cheery and grinning, and then continued to try and push his bag into Draco's hands.

"I'm not carrying that, you lazy-ass," the blonde glared, his hands on his hips.

"But it's heavy!" Blaise whined.

"Just leave it there, I'm introducing you to Sirius first anyway," he watched his friend drop the bag spontaneously, and pulled him into the kitchen—Ron and Harry following closely behind.

The kitchen was half-full already—only Fred, George and Remus missing. Misses Weasley turned and smiled at the newcomer. Giving him a quick look-over, she decided that he seemed nice and polite enough—she had to reconsider though, when Blaise decided to take that moment to bug Draco.

"Baby, you promised me sex!" he said, insulted by the fact that Draco found introducing more important than having a rowdy shag.

"I did not!" Draco retorted, flicking the boy's arm, "actually, I seem to remember me telling you on multiple occasions that I was _not_ going to be sleeping with you!"

"Not even tongue-tricks?" Blaise asked with puppy-dog eyes, and Bill and Charlie laughed.

"Only if you behave," Draco smirked and then squealed when Blaise gave his ass a pinch and flopped down into the chair next to Ginny.

"I always behave!" the look on Draco's face said otherwise and Blaise chuckled.

"No you don't," he argued, then pointed at Sirius as he, too, sat down, "that's Sirius."

"'m Blaise Zabini," Blaise introduced himself, and leaned over the table to shake the man's hand, his face still split into that same mischievous grin, "thank you for not letting my Dray starve!"

"Actually, he doesn't really do that," Draco turned to misses Weasley instead, "she does—Sirius just sort of sits there and pretends to be in control."

Sirius sent him a glare and Charlie spoke up, as the blonde'd sat down in the empty seat between the older redhead and his own best friend.

"Hey, what about introducing us? We help too!" he protested, seeing as Draco had no intentions of presenting them to the flamboyant boy.

"Ignore them," Draco gave them a distasteful look, "they're nutters."

Charlie and Bill spluttered in protest, and then Blaise continued to shriek—loud and high-pitched—in protest as Charlie tried whacking the blonde on the head. In less than a second Blaise had crawled into his friend's lap, and was holding his head tightly against his chest—earning laughs from everyone at the table—he himself did not find it amusing, and gave the two brothers a dirty look.

"Don't fear my love," he cooed into the silver hair, "I will protect you from these redheaded beasts!"

"Mmph," Draco said articulately, and George nearly fell off his chair in chuckles.

"How dare you hit my baby!" Blaise pointed at Charlie, as if his finger was up to no good—_probably thinks poking is fearsome, the bitch,_ "I will make you—"

He stopped when Draco spoke again, and pulled away just enough to look at the pale face, contorted in absolute murder, though he ignored this part.

"What is it love? Have they hurt you?"

"I said: get. Off. Now."

"Oh but Dray, I can't," and with that, Blaise went off on a ramble, "because I promised you I wouldn't, and even though me getting off is very hot I'm not sure it would be appropriate to do that in the kitchen for obvious sanitarian reasons and really, I'm not all that horny at the moment, so I'll be fine—at least till tomorrow, and even then, I can—"

Draco cheeks got a soft rosy colour as he realised what Blaise meant, and then bit his chin to make him stop talking—the dark boy yelped in pain and Draco glared.

"I meant get off my lap, you bitch," he was still very much unable to move, Blaise's arms wrapped tightly around him.

"But I'm comfortable baby," the answer was a purr, and he kissed the top of Draco's head, "isn't this nice?"

"No, it is not. You're fat."

"I am not fat!" Blaise's mouth opened in shock, and he looked very tempted to give the blonde a good beating himself, "I'm not! It's not because you're a chubby-chaser that I'm chubby! I'm perfectly slim and—"

"What the fuck do you mean, 'a chubby chaser'?" Draco glare of impendent doom was back, and those who knew that the blonde was having sex with Ron—everyone except Harry—gave said redhead a look.

He was beet-red, obviously _very_ angry and ashamed.

"Your lover has love-handles!" Blaise accused with a yelp, as if having love-handles was something very bad and they needed to die, _now_.

"He does not have love-handles!" Draco scowled at the insult, and slapped Blaise in the face—hard.

This of course, drew the attention back to the two fighting friends, and instead of looking at Ron, now everyone looked at them.

"You slapped me!" Blaise said, in shock.

"You insulted him! He is not fat!"

"Is too! You have weird cravings for fat people!"

"Who the fuck do you think he is!" Draco pulled at the boy's collar, nearly strangling him, "Millicent Bulstrode or Neville Longbottom? Seriously, your boyfriend is barely fourteen, and then I'm the one with weird cravings! You're a kiddie-rapist!"

"I am not a rapist!" Blaise waved his finger at Draco now, "I'll have you know he specifically asked me to fuck him six ways from Sunday and I couldn't help but oblige! He's has perfect lips and no friends, so I offered him friendship—"

"Mouth, meet cock," Draco dropped in fake-serious, and Blaise glared but continued undisturbed.

"Not fucking him would be like denying a starving man food!" he exclaimed, and then, as an afterthought, he added: "and he's not my boyfriend!"

"Not your boyfriend?" at this the blonde frowned, "of course he's your boyfriend!"

"Not true!"

"You buy him dinner," Draco said in his isn't-it-obvious tone.

"He's poor. He can't buy his own," Blaise immediately dropped in.

"You go to see the movies together."

"He's my friend, we like movies."

"He's the only guy you've shagged two times—even more."

"Sex with him is really nice Dray!" Blaise objected, as if that wasn't a validated reason, "he's really tigh—"

Draco interrupted before he could finish, knowing that misses Weasley was very close to kicking them both out of the kitchen as it was.

"You shop with him and give him clothes."

"Have I mentioned that he's poor? Besides, that's just 'cause I want him to look extra-sexy and it's also a fine chance for dressing-room sex!"

"Okay, so you buy him anything he wants, which insinuates you give him rewards for putting out," Blaise was about to protest, but Draco shushed him, "what basically makes him your fucktoy. But, you enjoy spending time with him even when you're _not_ having sex. Which makes him your boyfriend."

"No!" Blaise's eyes were tearful, because of course, a boyfriend was something he really didn't want, something that would destroy him and end his life with a very painful demise—_bastard_.

"Blaise, does he know he's not your boyfriend?"

"Of course he does," Blaise waved it off simply, and Draco gave him a blank stare, "well... maybe... it could explain why he's been refusing to talk to me ever since I fucked that one waiter at the restaurant..."

He seemed to doubt. Draco, did not.

"Blaise, you sick fuck!" he was somewhere between laughing and looking at his best friend in disbelief, "you fucked a waiter while you guys were out together?"

"I was horny," Blaise whined.

"You're always horny! Of course he's mad, you cheated!"

"I did not cheat!" he protested again, glaring, "there's no one to cheat _on_! We're not boyfriends!"

"You're just in denial," Draco shook his head in disbelieve, then: "Blaise, you are still sitting on me."

Blaise looked down at the boy—he was still situated comfortably in his best friend's lap.

"Ah, so I am."

"Move, now," Draco growled, and Blaise pouted at him.

"Those tongue-tricks better be entertaining," the raven grumbled but moved off anyways, sitting down in his own seat next to Ginny again.

"I've never had complaints," Draco assured him, and Blaise made a face.

"Well sure, fatty-boy wouldn't—"

"You—" Draco snarled and then spontaneously jumped on Blaise, knocking his chair over and both of them fell to the floor—in a mess of limbs, Draco landed on top and slapped Blaise for good measure, "stop calling him fat!"

Remus entered the kitchen just then, staring at the scene, as everyone got off their chairs, gathering around them to see if they would fight—they didn't though, as Blaise rubbed his head and bit out: "stop calling him my boyfriend!"

"He _is_ your boyfriend!" Draco objected, poking his dark friend in his chest.

"He _is_ fat!" Blaise spat.

"He is _not_ fat!" the blonde slapped him again and Blaise growled.

"He is _not_ my boyfriend!"

"You bloody twat!"

"We could have sex right now, you know," Blaise said suddenly, as if forgotten about the fact that his best friend had just tackled him to the floor and hit him repeatedly.

He looked pensive, as if seriously considering it. Draco's face dropped.

"What?" he said in disbelief—_how the heck did we get from arguing to this?_

But then again, with Blaise, any decent conversation could wind up in one about sex.

"Well, it happens to be one of my favourite positions," Blaise said with a small smile, folding his arms behind his arms to make himself more comfortable, "it's especially good when the boy on top is skinny," it was a pun and Draco knew it, but he was still rather shocked—Blaise said what was on his mind, never one to hide his feelings, but he'd never thought of he'd share this, _in public_, "you can see their abs and the muscles in their thighs flexing as they ride you slowly—or fast depending on your mood, and—"

Draco covered the raven's mouth before he could say anything else, looking up at Misses Weasley with an apologetic look.

"We'll leave now," he said, and she gave a curd nod, showing her disapproval at the boy's words, "up we go Blaise."

He stood, brushing off his shirt, and offered his friend a hand. He was about to leave, not waiting for Blaise to fix his tank top, when he felt his arms wrap around him and pull him back.

"What—"

Blaise rubbed his dark nose against Draco's pale one in a sweet Eskimo kiss, his hands contrasting with the marble skin on Draco's arms. Then he hugged him full out—and Draco frowned at the sudden intimacy. From the corner of his eye he saw Ron fuming, but he decided not to think about it, _like he never hugs Pothead._

"I really missed you love," he said, loud and clear, and Draco chuckled.

"I missed you too Blaise," he admitted, and patted the boy's back, "now let me go?"

"Meh, you're no fun," he huffed but did as he was told, pulling away, "let's have sex!"

"No," Draco walked over to the door, "come on."

Blaise huffed again, and was about to follow, when Bill scraped his throat.

"Erm... your... mobile-thingy..."

When Blaise turned, he saw that his mobile had indeed fallen from the pockets of his black jeans—he smiled and happily went back over to get it, in the process giving the oldest brothers a perfect view of his ass. As he straightened he noticed their blank looks, and chuckled.

"Like my jeans?" he teased, giving his ass a tap for good measure, "they're new."

He gave Charlie a wink as he followed the blonde back into the hallway—carefully avoiding Molly who gave her son a look of pure murder. They were about to go back to their breakfast, when they heard the two friends talking—the faint noise of something being dragged across the floor barely audible.

"Man, you never told me Weasleys could be hot," Blaise commented, and they heard Draco laugh.

"Blaise, Charlie's like... almost ten years your senior," he said with a chortle.

"How the hell do you know which one I want?" his friend asked, obviously stunned—Charlie blushed at the expression, and they turned to him, watching as even his ears turned bright red at the declaration.

"Because you're imagining what it'd be like to fuck him while pulling his ponytail," Draco commented, not even questioning his own words.

"But how the fuck...—damn baby, you're scary. Can you read my mind or somethin'?" at that, the blush on Charlie's face grew.

"I don't need to, it was obvious to me. But hey, if you do decide to fuck his ass into the kitchen table some time, please don't let anyone know—the Weasleys hate me enough as it is, I don't want them thinking I'm responsible for the corruption of their oldest kid."

"No prob Dray, I'll gag him," Blaise laughed, and then continued: "so he's gay?"

"Oh please, like you care," their voices came closer as they approached the stairs, "you'd make him gay if he weren't."

"Ah yes, like I gave you a sudden craving for cock."

"You didn't," Draco said flatly.

"Right, of course, the one responsible would be—"

"Blaise," the blonde snapped suddenly, and Harry inwardly groaned, angry he wouldn't be able to find out who Draco's lover was, "the kitchen door is open. Shut up."

"Ow, sorry babe," they paused briefly, "hey, why the fuck are we dragging this thing? Ask one of the adults to magic it up to your bedroom!"

It seemed as if Draco thought it over for a moment, because it was completely quiet before he spoke again: "I never took you for a genius! I'll be right back."

He popped his head into the kitchen, a small smile on his lips as he locked eyes with Sirius.

"Sirius, can you give us a hand?" he asked, and Sirius grinned, "I think Blaise doesn't quite get that he's only staying a night."

"Sure," Sirius nodded.

He went into the hall, just as Blaise called for Draco: "love, I left my keys on the table, can you bring them."

The blonde scanned the room and saw the keys lying there innocently. When he went to grab them, Molly stopped him.

"Mister Malfoy," everyone was staring at him, and he gave a polite smile in answer, "I would appreciate it if you could tell your friend to watch his mouth."

"Of course," Draco took the keys, "I know how you feel about the f-word. I'll tell him."

"And if you could let him know that perhaps intimate things such as talking about making love would be best kept as bedroom talk," she added.

At this, Draco shrugged.

"I don't see how that matters," he said, heading back for the hall, "he flaunts like it's nobody's business. But he always does that. I'll remind him not to talk like that in the presence of minors though."

Ginny pouted and Draco laughed at her, shaking his head as he joined Blaise and Sirius.

--

"I don't know if it's a two or a seven," Blaise eyed the card suspiciously, and sighed, "why are we here again?"

They were on the carpet in the living room, playing cards. It had been rather quiet, but Draco knew it was only a matter of time before someone would come in, and they'd have to find another place to go.

"Because we decided to not stay in my room all day," Draco answered, staring at his own cards as well.

"Yeah, because you didn't want to have se—" he stopped when Harry and Ron entered the room, _I knew it, _and grinned, "hey you! Can you tell me if this is a two or a seven?" he held his card out to the two, making sure Draco couldn't see them.

"Bugger off," Ron growled, pulling Harry to the sofa with him—the raven gave Blaise a rather apologetic look, and sat next to his friend.

"Look Blaise, does it even matter what number it is?" Draco asked, and Blaise sighed again, dropping his cards onto the carpet.

"I have no fucking clue, can we not play this stupid game anymore?" he pouted and took his glass of soda, taking a sip.

"Fine, but we're not going back up," Draco warned, "I'm sick of that room."

"I like it," his friend told him, smiling, "it seems you-ish Dray."

At this Draco laughed, and he made himself more comfortable on the carpet, leaning onto his arms. They sat in quiet, smirking at each other, when Charlie came in.

Blaise's eyes fell on him as soon as he entered, and the Weasley blushed, clearing his throat.

"Harry, mum wants you, for some reason," he said, and Harry nodded, standing. Ron followed, but Charlie stopped him, "in person."

Ron sat back down and Charlie joined him—the sofa situated behind Draco, the blonde had no idea if they were looking at each other, maybe communicating like that, but he figured it didn't matter anyway.

"Dray, I need your opinion on something," Blaise suddenly said, "can we talk about this someplace else?"

"I'm not moving," Draco yawned, "too lazy. Shoot."

He paused a moment, debating whether or not he should talk about this in presence of others—then decided it really didn't matter.

"Am I a slut?" Blaise asked, sitting up straight.

"Yes," he didn't even doubt as he answered, and Blaise sighed.

"You figure I could change that?" he continued, "cause I figured, I gave Leonardo a slut-stamp, and maybe I should try and be loyal to that?"

"Slut-stamp?" Ron dropped in, curious.

"He's saying his lover has his name tattooed above his arse," Draco supplied, "well it's simple really Blaise, don't shag anyone else."

"You know, I was thinking..." he doubted, "I got to get him to talk to me first. And I was figuring, maybe you wanted to like... be the mediator?"

Draco tipped up his brow: "you serious?"

"Mhm," he nodded, "and since we're bored, you could help me today? He's been wanting to go to the beach, and we could take him to Waytansea resort. And then you and I can talk in private, without having to stay up in your room."

"The beach..." Draco thought it over, but _I haven't been to the beach since I was a kid_, "that'd be great. I'll ask Sirius—he might want to join us."

"Thanks Dray," he grinned and pushed himself up to his feet, "I'll change into something lighter," he kissed his friend's cheek, then turned to the two redheads, "won't you join us? Beaches are nice!"

And Draco really wanted to punch him through the wall when Charlie nodded—and Ron hesitantly followed suit.

--

When they returned to the living room, more people than originally anticipated were waiting for them. They'd redressed—Draco changed into white, jeans shorts, to go with his white t-shirt. Blaise was still in his black tank top, but had traded his skinny jeans for a dark-blue short. To Draco's utter horror, not only Sirius, Remus, Charlie and Ron were waiting for them.

No. Also Bill, Pothead, Granger and Ginny.

He inwardly rolled his eyes and turned to Blaise, who was rummaging through his bag, muttering about not finding his towel. Suddenly his phone rung, and he swore.

"Bugger, where is that thing?"

"Why don't you just let it ring?" Sirius offered, but the raven shook his head.

"I can't," he elucidated, "it's probably my mum and she—aha!" he pulled his mobile from its confines and went into Blaise-son-of-misses-Zabini mode, "mother!" he exclaimed cheerfully, shifting his bag to his other shoulder, "how delightful to hear from you! How are you today?"

Everyone looked at him a bit strangely, hearing the way he spoke to his mother, but Draco didn't even ponder it twice—it was only suitable to treat one's mother with respect. _She is, after all, your superior._

"I am spending some time with Dray—co," he caught his mistake quickly, and gave a laugh at something she said, "of course not mother."

They heard someone on the other line, and Blaise frowned, as though his mother would be able to see it anyways.

"I have no idea what you mean by that mother," he said plainly, "it sounds as if you're insinuating that I have sexual intercourse with other males. The mere thought! Scandalous!"

At this Draco couldn't hide his snicker, and Blaise winked at him.

"Mother, I can assure you I'm very fond of female genitalia," he inspected his nails, obviously already bored by the conversation, and cut his mother off of her response, "I love you very much, and you know I would never do anything to disgrace your honour. I have to go now mother, Draco appears to have set fire to his curtains! Bye now!"

Without waiting for a reply, he cut the phone off, and dumped it in his bag.

"She found your porn again?" Draco asked, feigning interest—he _knew_ the answer without Blaise telling him.

"Mmm," Blaise nodded, prodding the blonde's side, before leaning over to whisper something into his ear.

Draco shot into a fit of giggles and Blaise winked again, before turning to the two adults.

"So, let's leave. There's one problem though," his eyes settled backon his best friend, who frowned, _what?_ "It's been a really long time since I used to floo so... you'regoingtohavetoholdme!"

"I am not holding you!" no one had actually understood what he'd said, but Draco knew him well—he poked his friend with a frown on his face, and Blaise pouted cutely at him.

"But Dray, what if I get lost!" he said petulantly, "you need to protect me!"

"What the—" and Blaise continued to drag Draco to the fire, "Sirius! Help me!"

With Blaise being bigger and stronger than him, he saw no other option but to ask help—Sirius of course, being the oh-so-sensible sod he was, grinned cheekily.

"Now come on Draco," Sirius patted his shoulder comforting, "be good and help your friend."

"I hate you," Draco glowered, and Blaise grinned happily, easily fitting his arms around Draco's waist to secure a tighter hold.

"Hold on love," he whispered hotly—still perfectly audible for the rest of the crowd.

And just before they disappeared in the green flames, he caught sight of his friend's ginger lover, who was very clearly trying to kill him with his flaring look.

"Well," Bill cleared his throat, "this'll definitely be interesting."

Sirius agreed with a chuckle, and they followed the teenage boys.

When they arrived at the resort, the boys were already waiting for them, continuing their argument. Everyone stared in awe—the hall they were in was grand, white walls and golden chandeliers. The tiles were clear marble, and everyone in sight was dressed in silk robes or fluffy towels. They got a disdainful look from an older woman, staring at them as if they were trash—their plain, unfashionable clothes caught some attention, and they looked terribly out-of-place. The two boys, however, got polite, almost honourable nods, from every person that passed them, in obvious respect.

Hermione and Harry exchanged a look, clearly wondering what they were doing in the Malfoy part of the wizarding world—everything was so terribly fancy, it felt like they didn't belong.

"Mister Malfoy, Mister Zabini," the man behind the desk greeted with a bow, "what a pleasure to see you again. My condolences to you Mister Malfoy."

"Thank you," Draco gave a nod, and tried not to squeal as Blaise pinched his ass—much to Ron's displeasure—but he did manage to kick the boy without letting the clerk see, "we brought friends, put them on my card."

He fished a golden card from his pocket—'Waytansea membership card' written on it in silver letters—and set it on the desk. The man smiled and took it, taking a quill from an inkpot.

"Ah yes, Mister Zabini," he suddenly remembered something, and gestured a guard over, "there is a boy here who claims to be your guest," the guard opened a door, and a slender boy emerged, glaring at the broad man—he was wearing worn-out jeans and an open shirt, his skin naturally tan, "do you know him?"

Not even replying, Blaise grinned, and went over to the boy—before the kid realised what was going on, Blaise kissed him sweetly on the lips, pulling him over to the desk. The boy looked rather dumbfounded, and blinked twice before obediently following the older raven.

"Of course I know him," Blaise kissed him again, and Leonardo blushed a deep red, "he goes on my card, Leonardo De Luca."

"Very well," the clerk took Blaise's card, while Blaise introduced Leonardo to his best friend, adding with a wink that threesomes were always an option—earning him a slap from both other guys, "may I have the names of your guests as well Mister Malfoy?"

"Yes," he turned looked back briefly, at the eight others, standing there rather awkwardly, looking at him in wonderment, "Sirius Black, Remus Lupin," he listed them in his head, making sure not to miss one, "Ronald Weasley, William Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

"If you wish," the man spoke as he wrote, "I can put Mister Black and Mister Potter on their own family's cards, but they'll have to pay extra for that."

"My dad had a card here?" Harry asked in surprise, and Sirius came standing next to the blonde.

"I can pay for that," he said to the clerk, but Draco interrupted him as he went to take his wallet.

"It's okay Sirius, this is on me," he assured, and Harry came up next to Sirius.

"Thanks," Pothead said, and gave a weak smile.

"No problem," he shrugged, and turned back to the desk, "do you have all their names?"

"Let me see..." he checked his list, "Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Ronald Weasley, William Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Ginevra Weasley, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Is that correct?"

Draco nodded and gave Blaise a poke when the man returned their cards—he was very busy examining his lover's mouth with his tongue.

"Now you just have to sign here," he handed them both a quill, and Blaise adjusted the small frame of Leonardo more comfortably in his arms, tucking his hand in the boy's back pocket, "and you can all follow me."

They did as they were told, and Draco gave Blaise a quick nudge, muttering: "well, seems like you've fixed the not-talking problem yourself nicely," before giving him a wink, and letting Sirius wrap an arm around his shoulder.

They walked over to a grand set of marble doors, which were opened with a wave of the clerk's hand, to reveal the beach. It appeared that the resort was close to the waterside, and he gave them a bow as they walked down onto the brick road, leading to the sand and little beach-houses. Suddenly Charlie caught up, and he asked: "so, he wasn't lying about the slut-stamp then?"

And Draco followed his gaze—Blaise was a little up front, groping his lover as they walked, not talking, but connected by the hip. Every now and then the dark hand would slip up to reveal some of Leonardo's skin, and a black spot was clearly visible, right above the waistband of his jeans.

"Apparently," he chuckled and nearly bumped into aforementioned best friend, seeing as he'd stopped walking.

"Dray, you'll swim with me right?" he walked backwards, as soon as his feet touched the hot sand, facing the blonde, "promise me?"

"I promise," he said, and turned to the others, "where should we sit?"

"Here looks nice," Ginny pointed to a spot a bit further on, close to the water and the washrooms and bar.

Blaise threw his bag down, kissed Leonardo's cheek, and started tugging at Draco's hand like an anxious puppy. The others laughed and started making themselves comfortable as Blaise whined.

"Come one Dray!" he begged, undoing the buttons of his shorts, and sliding it down easily.

Draco looked at Leonardo, who was getting out Blaise's towel—too big for one person, and he'd brought it with the intention of sharing with Leonardo—and unfolded it, seemingly no intention of going anywhere near the water.

"You're not coming?" Draco asked politely, and the boy smiled.

"I don't like to swim," he explained, his accent ringing through, "just the sand and the sun."

He nodded in understanding as Blaise quickly removed his top, tossing it carelessly into the sand—he got some admiring looks, but then when Draco started taking off his clothes, the appreciative eyes turned to him instead.

"All Weasleys are pervs," Blaise chortled, and the Weasleys blushed a deep red—even Ginny, "come on baby, before I make you."

And as soon as Draco had taken off his shirt, leaving him in his blue swim trunks, Blaise pulled him to the waterside with him.

They played around a bit, and Draco suddenly remembered why he loved coming to the beach, _it's darn fun. _Even when Blaise lifted him as if he weighed nothing, spinning him around before dropping him back into the salty water, he couldn't give a damn, because it was too nice to be under the sun again. He knew he was acting like a down-right fool, but the last time he'd been at the beach like this, he'd been with his father—and he suddenly realised once more why Blaise was his best friend. They'd been best friends ever since they were kids, and no matter what happened—with Blaise, he would always be able to relive that. There was no other person left that knew him the way he'd been when he was a kid. Blaise had been his best friend since he was two years old, and _I know that's not going to change. We know each other too well for that._

"He treats you right, don't he? Cause you know if he doesn't I'm going to have to kick his ass," well, that was another reason—Blaise didn't mind, he accepted Draco, always, but if anyone as much as talked about Draco in a bad way, super-Blaise came to the rescue immediately.

The boy flopped down in the sand, feet still in the water, a toothy grin on his face, and Draco blushed softly. He swam over and lay down next to his friend, nodding.

"He is very kind to me," Draco beamed, "he makes me feel good too."

Blaise caught the possible innuendo, and smirked.

"So, what's he like in the sack?" he winked, and Draco began smiling widely—he couldn't even stop himself, the grin lighting up his entire face.

"I already told you, he's amazing," Draco bit his lip, and let out a soft sigh, "he makes me feel amazing—and damn, he tastes fine."

At this Blaise laughed, poking his friend in the side.

"He is one lucky son of a bitch," Blaise's smile turned upright and Draco turned onto his side, propping his arm up and leaning his head on his hand, "I'm glad he makes you happy. You know you deserve that."

"Thanks," Draco meant it when he said it, and he saw Blaise's eyes soften at his tone, "do you want to head back?"

"No," he sat up, wrapping his arm around Draco as he pulled the blonde up into a sitting position next to him, "let's stay here for a while?"

They sat in the wet sand, sometimes moving uncomfortably at the way the sand seemed to pull them in deeper, occasionally swishing up water with their feet, teasing each other. They talked some more about Blaise's newfound love, until the raven got too curious, and began questioning Draco full out. It had him blushing every two minutes, Blaise not sparing any of his resolve—he demanded to know about every single sexual encounter they'd shared, and then started on about mutual interests until eventually, he grew tired, and lay back down into the sand again.

"I want booze," after another couple of minutes, Blaise sat back up straight again, "let's get a drink."

The blonde got to his feet unhurriedly, stretching once—earning a whistle from one of the Weasleys, who sat with the others not too far off—before heading to the bar with his friend.

"Scotch?" Blaise offered, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Blaise, it's barely noon! We're not having liquor!"

"Just a bit," Blaise urged, and ordered without waiting for the answer, "to celebrate your deflowering!"

"Fine, but don't you dare mention that aloud ever again," Draco threatened, "you better hope this doesn't kill me."

They got two glasses from the waiter, and a soda. When they joined the others, they had all gotten comfortable on their towels, which formed a weird circle. The adults were taking a nap, both on their own towels—though sometimes, Sirius' hand flitted innocently against Remus' hip—above the space Leonardo was taking, together with Draco's towel and their bags. The oldest Weasleys were talking, just like Harry and Ron, both on either side of Leonardo. Ginny and Hermione were flipping through a magazine, all giggles and smiles, under Leonardo's space, a bit further away so they could gossip without having to worry.

Blaise gave his lover the soda, and the boy glared up at him, taking off his shades.

"Soda?"

"You're too young to drink," Blaise teased, and took a sip from his scotch, before pressing his lips against the other's—effectively sharing the drink with his _not_-boyfriend.

"Drinking?" Sirius' voice piped up, and he got up on his elbows, giving the boy's a look.

"You have booze?" Bill asked curiously.

"Yeah, the bar's right there," Blaise pointed to the bar-booth, and then crawled over to Sirius, "it's my fault mister Black, see we're..." and he continued to whisper something in his ear.

"Oh," Sirius' eyes widened, and he smirked, "I'd drink to that!"

Draco groaned, tackling Blaise, who squealed—his glass flew from his hand, and was magically saved by Sirius, who took a sip and gave a content sigh of approval.

"What happened to not mentioning it aloud!" Draco glared, sitting not-so-comfortably on top of his friend, but not caring as he prodded the boy's chest painfully.

"But Dray, I whispered!" Blaise protested, and Sirius chuckled.

"He did whisper Draco," the man added in, and Remus yawned, turning.

"Why is it that every time I see the two of you," he said, drowsily, "you're on top of each other?"

At this Blaise blushed, and Draco shrugged.

"It was in a hurting sort of way Remus," the blonde explained plainly, "and I can't help it if you happen to like it when teenage boys go at each other."

Sirius laughed, smiling in mirth and Remus couldn't help but grin as well—Draco heard a chuckle from Bill and Charlie, and even Pothead was smirking, even though he probably didn't even get the pun.

"Fair enough," he admitted, and took a taste of Blaise's scotch—which was now Sirius'—handing the glass back immediately.

Draco skulked off his friend, and they both sat back on their towels, Blaise laying down behind his lover—Leonardo was on his belly, resting his head in his arms—the tattoo was now very clear, and said 'property of Blaise Zabini' in a middle-ages type of lettering. Draco watched as the black boy cautiously tugged at the slim hip, pulling them flush against his own.

"Hmm, Blaise," he purred and Blaise kissed his neck.

"It's okay baby," Blaise whispered against his ear, and kissed it afterwards, "sleep. I'm just making myself comfortable."

Leonardo purred again, and flattered himself more comfortable against Blaise's body. The display of affection made him a bit giddy, and he realised, _I want that too... with Ron_—even though this was not the right time to think about it. He leaned back against the towel, feeling around with his hand to search for his sunglasses, and then allowed himself to just enjoy the moment. That was, until Pothead started talking to him.

"So what are you celebrating?" he asked, voice a bit overenthusiastic.

"Can't tell you," Draco replied flatly, but offered the boy his glass without even looking, "if you're being polite for a drink—have it."

"I didn't—" Draco jiggled the glass, and he felt Harry hesitate, before taking it and nipping carefully, "damn..."

He chuckled at the reply.

"Not much of a drinker than?" Blaise piped up, and Draco turned his head to his friend again—he was spooning happily into his lover, eyes closed and seemingly asleep.

"No, not really," he handed the glass back to Draco, who finished in one gulp, he was feeling rather pathetic anyways, _Blaise and his stupid boyfriend, while stupid Ronald is all the way over stupid there..._ "thanks though."

Draco turned again, but instead of watching Harry, he stared at Ron through his shades. The boy's eyes were on the sky, and he seemed unsettled—probably because he didn't like being bare like this in front of others—but when his eyes flit over to Blaise, he seemed to fume. _Jealous, sure,_ but how could that be fair, when Draco hadn't seen him in days, just so he could spend time with Pothead?

Even though Ron did not seem happy at the moment, it was impossible for Draco to take his eyes off him. His trunks were reddish brown—a rather ugly colour, actually—and reached his knees. But his chest was revealed, and he hadn't seen Ron's chest in days, so he was entitled to stare. Ron gave a sort of grunt, but no one heard, and he ran his hand through his hair, agitated. His muscles rippled as he moved, finding a more comfortable position, and he seemed nervous—as if he was up to something, but wasn't sure whether he should do it or not. Draco wondered what could be going on.

"You okay? You seem anxious," he heard Pothead ask, silently, "actually, you seem angry. Did I do something?"

"I'm not mad at you Harry," and Draco hated how the redhead smiled at his friend, "let's not talk about it."

"If something's bothering you, you can tell me mate," Harry patted his back sympathetically, and Ron shrugged.

"It's nothing, really," Ron assured him, and he tried on a smile—apparently, Harry bought it, but Draco could see right through it.

They went quiet, and suddenly Draco squealed as he felt something cold and hard poke him.

"Dammint!" he sat up straight in shock, and when he turned he noticed Blaise was blindly trying to give him a bottle of lotion, "bloody bastard! You scared the shit out of me!"

He peeked one eye open and shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry Dray, thought you might need this," he explained, "we don't want you to burn baby—it'd be no sight. Besides, I wouldn't be getting any tonight if you did."

"Even if I didn't, you wouldn't get any," Draco snarled, still rather upset.

"Someone should take you," Leonardo mumbled, and Draco's eyes widened.

"What?" his voice was high-pitched, and Blaise bit the smaller boy's shoulder in a matter of punishment.

"He means 'take care of you'," the raven clarified, and untangled himself from the other, "come on, turn, I'll do it."

"Blaise, you don't—" Draco started opposing, but Blaise pushed him down.

"No fidgeting, and stop whining," the blonde helplessly tried to push the intruder away, but Blaise straddled his waist, and pushed his back down, placing his hand between his shoulders, "relax, I won't hurt you."

"I don't much appreciate you sitting on top of me," he tried to reason with his best friend, but knew it was futile, "Blaise..."

"Baby, you know you'll get a burn," in turn, Blaise tried to put on his worried voice, and that voice reminded him of his dad, somehow, "it'll be done soon."

He squirted the thick, white lotion on Draco's back, and Draco flinched involuntary at the cold. Then he felt hands moving over his shoulders, and he let his head fall, back into the towel. Blaise did indeed hurry, and Draco knew it was because he could sense Draco's discomfort—even though he _did_ just wanted to take care of him, Draco didn't like physical contact all too much. Unless it came from... _Ronald_.

Blaise hopped off again, rolling over to his own towel—like a young puppy, he flopped over Leonardo, then grabbed the boy with him and kissed him brutally. They started making out, and Draco planned to continue looking at Ron—only to find that, somewhere between Blaise getting on his back, and then getting off again, the redhead had disappeared.

Draco pushed himself up to sit on his knees, scanned the area, and couldn't see the shimmer of red hair anywhere. Besides him, Harry had fallen asleep on the towel, so, assured the raven wouldn't notice his interest, he took off his shades, and glanced around again.

"Draco," Bill hissed suddenly, and Draco turned to him.

The brother pointed to the public bathroom a little further on, and Draco nodded in understanding, getting to his feet. He was sure Ron was furious with him, and he had to fix it—even though he didn't like those particular bathrooms at all. They were small, the size of a single cubicle, and dark as pitch.

He took his time, not wanting to seem too hurried—his feet sunk deeper into the sand with every step, and they were still a bit wet, causing it to stick to him. He couldn't believe he'd pissed Ron off again, if anything, really, he should be the angry one. Ron had been ignoring him, honestly! But then again, he could understand. Ron didn't know Blaise, he didn't know what Blaise was like. The teasing, their friendship, to anyone else it would look like flirting, like a real relationship—but Draco knew it wasn't like that. And every other Slytherin knew that trying to mess with either of them, would inevitably call the wrath of the other upon themselves. He figured to Ron it must probably seem like Draco was trying to get into Blaise's pants—or at least the other way around.

His musings were disturbed when he reached the booth, and was then roughly pulled inside of it. He would've been afraid, but he knew it was Ron, so he didn't worry, _at first_. When he was then pushed into the wall, harder than he'd be if Ron was just messing around, and a hand clamped tightly around his mouth, he did panic a little.

He tried talking, but the sound was muffled by the hand.

"You are _such_ a bloody twat," a voice hissed, and Draco recognised it to be Ron's—the panic subsided slightly, until he realised he couldn't even move.

He tried grabbing onto the redhead's hips, but his hands were swatted away immediately.

"Ron—" was the only thing that sounded even a bit audible.

Ronald ignored him completely, and instead fished something out of his pockets—Draco felt something soft touch his face, and he felt the cool cloth slip down his forehead, over his nose—when it was forced into his mouth, meant to keep him quiet, he trashed helplessly.

"Wha—" he didn't even understand himself, and instead tried to tug the gag away—again Ron stopped him, and he hated how he was absolutely blind in the dark room, while Ron seemed to be able to see his every move.

"That stupid faggot hasn't even been here for a day," Ron growled, and he pushed his body against Draco—the blonde gasped at the feel of their chests meeting, and he could feel himself harden in his trunks, "and already you're hooked. Don't even have the decency to let me know that you've loved someone else this whole ruddy time!"

"He's got a boyfriend!" Draco tried—but it came out in a muffle, and Draco figured perhaps it was for the best, since that wouldn't be the right thing to say anyway.

He tried to tilt his head—tried to kiss the redhead's lips, because _damn, I missed them_—but Ron pushed him away again, and Draco had to do with the feel of their hips connecting instead.

"Don't you ever forget who made you feel this way, you fucking bastard," his voice was poison, but his hands touched against the pale skin with such care, Draco couldn't help but moan out, "don't forget I had you first, sad fuck."

Draco groaned again as the broad hand slipped inside his trunks, grasping him harshly—his skin broke out into a sweat, and he tried feeling Ron with his own hands, but his lover stopped him, again and again—eventually pinning his hands above his head.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you," Ron was bloody angry, and Draco knew he should be trying harder to make it better, but the boy's hand was down his pants, and he couldn't move, _too good_, "I said I loved you and meant it—and you just played me. All for a fucking shag!"

Draco tried telling him it wasn't like that at all—_I love you too, please believe me_—but he couldn't, so instead he tried moving his head towards those plump lips again. But he was too far away.

The pace of his hand quickened, and Draco whimpered at the brute force his lover used on him—it was so tight it almost hurt—as he tried trashing again. It was too hard, as he had no strength left. He was sweating like a pig, his skin damp and sticky—still salty from his swim—and he could almost feel Ron's breath against his heated cheek, but it could also just be the wind. His knees went wobbly, and for a moment he was away from the world—he'd missed this so much, he couldn't even begin to explain—then he remembered why he was here, why they weren't in a bed, or in some place lighter, why he was being pushed so hard, why lips refused to kiss him.

"Please—" he whimpered again, and it was stifled, and ignored as if he hadn't even said it.

He was so close, and he wanted to give into the feeling, but couldn't—he had to stop this before it was too late, because if he didn't, then what? His throat was dry, and he tried speaking again, but he couldn't. His knees almost buckled, and he reduced into a useless, squirming mess as Ron continued working him, hard and fast.

Just as he came, he found enough strength to lunge forward—his clothed lips connected with Ron's, but only for a second—Ron stepped away as soon as Draco touched him, and he let go of the blonde completely.

Draco's body convulsed violently, and he fell to the floor on his knees, the tremors nearly causing him to fall down completely. Light exploded behind his eyelids and his skin felt even sweatier, the air was thicker, and his throat was so dry it hurt.

He managed to reach up, the thrill of his orgasm still shaking him, and with shivering hands, he pulled the gag away. He could feel Ron, right in front of him—could sense the pulsating heat of his hard-on, through his trunks, against his cheek. At a loss of words, _try to explain, tell him you love him,_ and unable to utter a single one, he nuzzled against it softly. The heat in the redhead's trunks seemed to very much like the attention, and Draco was _so_ willing to give it. He flattered his cheek against the front of the fabric, and managed to murmur: "Ron, let me..."

_Explain? Suck you off?_ It didn't matter, because Ron interrupted before he could finish the sentence. He pulled back Draco's head—and Draco hissed in pain, as Ron tugged at his hair ruthlessly.

"I don't need you to suck me off Drake," he said maliciously—punctuating the difference between his pet name and Blaise's—and his hand forced Draco to look up. It was still too dark, but he could see the dangerous gleam in Ron's eye, "anyone can do that for me."

With that he let go of the blonde, and left the booth. Draco fell forward onto the wooden floor as soon as the door slammed—and before he knew it he was crying, because _what have I done_?

**AN: I would like to explain why the hell this took so long. I had written... 4 chapters or so after chapter twelve for this story, 4 finished chapters, which means, approximately 40 – 45 pages. When my baby-computer decided to land itself into a coma, and my HD decided to be oh-so-kind and go comatose as well, I pretended that everything was going to be okay. I pretended that my HD was not dying and it would be fine. I went to every HD-doctor I know, and it's final. It took me about two months to realise that he's really gone. So, I had a funeral, mourned, and decided to get back on the horse, starting with this story. More work went into this, so I restarted with this one first. I have now finished chapter 14 as well, and 15 is well on its way. I just wanted to make sure I had another chapter finished before updating, so I wouldn't have to keep you waiting too long the next time.**

**I'm sorry if this is a bit bad. It was hard, having to rewrite this, because I liked the original chapter 13 a lot. But I figured I did okay for a writer who's mourning her lost words.**


	14. Make up and Make out

14. Make up and Make out

**AN: JaceDamian23 can read my mind! It's completely nutters ! I plan on introducing Blaise – JaceDamian23 asks if perhaps I could add Blaise. I let Charlie and Bill find Draco – JaceDamian23 hopes Charlie and Bill find Draco. What will be next ! This is insanity !**

**WARNING: a scene from this chapter is rated M (forgot to warn you last time, sorry to the kiddies I shocked by letting Ron wank Drake off!)  
**

When Draco woke up he could smell the sea and salt. His body was tense and it felt sticky. There was damp wood beneath him, and the room smelt of urine and semen. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt heavy, and he really didn't want to move. All he wanted to do was doze off again and sleep for years. He could hear seagulls and happy voices in the distance, and someone was calling his name. Then he realised that although the voice sounded far, a hand was going through his hair, and he knew immediately that he'd passed out—from heartache or the intense orgasm, he couldn't remember.

His eyes fluttered and were immediately drowned in the brightest of red—_Ron?_

"Ron?" his throat hurt, and it came out weak and wheezing.

"It's Charlie mate," he was disappointed, to say the least, but when his cloudy head noticed the worry laced to his voice, he decided that he should be glad that Charlie came to look for him, "Bill's here too," and Bill, of course, "Ron left you in quite a state. Where are your trunks?"

The question didn't come through in his head, and if he would've comprehended it correctly, he would've been ashamed. As it was, he closed his eyes away from the red hair, and felt the need to drown into the black oblivion.

"Stay awake Draco," Bill urged, and he took Draco's shoulders, shaking him lightly—Charlie soon found his trunks in the corner of the bathroom, "tell us what happened."

"We had a fight," Draco murmured, but the black was so inviting.

"It'll be okay Drake," Charlie tried to sound convincing, but he sounded too unsure, "you guys'll sort it out."

"What happened really," Bill urged, but Charlie shushed him—the voices were the only thing that Draco heard, even though they seemed lose and meaningless to him.

"He's bloody naked and sticky," Charlie hissed, "what the hell do you think happened? Ron was a jealous twat but they'll fix it."

"Yeah, if he manages to get away from Potter for five seconds," Bill sounded exasperated, and Draco felt cold water touch his chest, "it's like they're connected at the hip!"

The last thing the blonde heard before tumbling down into the dark, was a sigh.

--

When he woke up the second time, someone was carrying him, and there were a lot of people. He felt clean and knew the brothers had washed him up. Someone squeezed his arm and he heard Sirius mutter: "poor Draco, I didn't know he was so sleep-deprived."

He opened his eyes and recognised the dark chest of his best friend. It was comforting, to know that at least he was being held by someone he knew, someone who cared deeply for him.

"Well good morning sleeping beauty," Blaise looked down at him, a small smile on his lips, "you slept for two hours baby. I'm glad you're up now."

"'m sorry," Draco gave a yawn and Blaise chuckled.

"Don't be baby, I was just worried sick," Draco recognised the streets, which meant they hadn't flood home immediately, _home,_ "when stud and his brother returned with you they said you'd fallen asleep on the loo, and now, I found it kinda funny, but then again, you are a funny bloke, aren't you?"

"Where are we?" Draco became more conscious of himself, and wondered if he still looked a mess, but does it matter, because real friends don't care about that—and Blaise proved this by giving his head a kiss.

"We went to a small shop, you'll be home soon love," his voice was sweet and Draco managed a little smile.

"What about Leonardo?"

"Went home half-an-hour ago," Blaise wrapped his arm more comfortable around Draco's back, "it was fun though. Bill and Charlie were very nice to me."

"You know..." Draco blinked twice, taking in his surroundings, "I think I can walk from here Blaise."

"No way in hell am I ever letting you go Dray," and he meant it—just not in the sticky-never-let-you-go way, because that's... _Ron_.

--

"Hey Dray, are you sure you're okay?" Blaise asked from his place on the bed, "you've been quiet ever since we returned home?"

Draco spit out the toothpaste, rinsing his toothbrush under the cold jet of water.

"I'm fine," he lied, "just a bit tired, 's all. So, what do you wanna do?"

"Drink," he answered, no hesitation, "but are you sure you'll manage? I don't want you to get sick because of me."

"I'm not sick," Draco turned off the lights in the bathroom, heading back into the bedroom, "I'll be fine—you got some firewhiskey?"

"Well of course I do," Blaise tugged his white sweats up, and got off the bed, going over to his bag, "I noticed none of your special souvenirs are in here Dray."

Draco nodded—when his father was still alive, he used to travel together with Draco. They'd been all around the world, and everywhere they went, his father had told him to pick one thing, a souvenir to remind him of the trip, that he should later give to his beloved. His father did the same, and told him he regretted every country he'd seen, without bringing something back for his one-and-only. Of course Draco knew his father didn't give the souvenirs to his mother—it wasn't until recently, that he understood who all the gifts went to.

"You should place them here, until you decide whether or not you're ready to give them away," Blaise was smarter than he looked—_he knows I'm holding onto them because of my father._

"Fine," Draco leaned against the desk as his friend opened a bottle of the wizard whiskey, "help me?"

And Blaise's face split out into a full grin.

--

When Ginny opened the door to Draco's bedroom, she'd made up multiple scenarios in her head. Her plan was to pretend to sulk, and try and bride Draco into letting her stay, since she really didn't feel like having to sit through another Harry-Ron-Hermione talk. But when she saw what was going on, she was surprised, to say the least—for all she knew they'd been going at it up against the wall, but this was something she hadn't expected.

There were boxes scattered around the room, and Draco and Blaise were tiffing about, as they arranged things all around the blonde's chamber. Draco was busy setting something on his bookcase, and Blaise was hanging something, it glittered in the light, and with a start, Ginny realised it was jewellery.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, closing the door behind her.

Both boys turned to her, lopsided smiles on their faces, and Draco took a swig from a bottle—suddenly it downed on her: they were drunk.

"Decorating his room," Blaise tossed a jar over to her, and she barely caught it, "help us. Find a nice place to put that."

"What is it?" she asked, confused, but looked around for a place nonetheless.

Draco's room had some shelves, but most of them were covered in books. He had an old dresser, with a blotted mirror, and she put the jar there, next to a jug of water. The jar seemed to be holding sand.

"Saqqara sand," Blaise offered, but she frowned.

"It's sand from Saqqara," Draco fell in, and he handed the bottle of firewhiskey to his friend, "you know, the necropolis."

"And this?" she pointed to the clear blue water.

"Water from mangrove bay," he said, not even turning.

Ginny studied the two items curiously, before supplying: "need more help?"

"Sure," Blaise tossed her the firewhiskey, "have a drink. We went through the boxes, and all the things that need to be set in the room, are on the bed."

"And the rest?" she asked, fully prepared to do this—she was dying for a change of scene, and Draco and Blaise always were fun to watch.

"Mainly jewellery," Draco hiccupped once, "I'll put it in my drawer later."

She walked over to the bed—it was a complete mess, covered in all sort of objects—and let her gaze trail over them before continuing.

"The silk robe?" she questioned, as her eyes caught it.

It was beautiful, black silk with red flowers on it. She touched it briefly, and she swore she'd never felt anything so soft and cool.

"From Nagasaki," the blonde appeared next to her, and pointed to a weird dolly—it was round, no arms or legs, and had blank eyes, "that's from Japan too, a hime daruma doll. A female daruma. Literally, 'princess daruma'."

"What are they?" Ginny took the doll, it was a bit heavy in her palm, and she looked at its odd face—one of the eyes had been marked, a black spot gracing the white.

"Wish dolls," Draco pointed to the black dot, "you fill out one of the eyes while making a wish. When it's come true, you fill out the other. Place it somewhere high."

She did what she was told, and they worked in quiet, passing the bottle around—when the bed was almost cleared, Draco flopped onto it, wrapping himself into the comfortable robe. Blaise put the boxes back where they came from, then joined his friend on the bed—flinching painfully.

"Damnit," he swore and reached under his arse, tossing a key, attached to a necklace, onto Draco's chest, "what is that doing here?"

"It used to be my dad's," Draco muttered, fitting it around his neck, and gulped the last of the whiskey down, "you have more of this Blaise?"

"Sure baby," he wobbled over to his bag, just as Ginny sat down next to Draco.

"Your room looks amazing," she beamed, her cheeks flustered and red, "can I stay?"

Draco noticed her slight slur, and, figuring he'd be in trouble if Granger found her friend in such a state, nodded.

Oh, but it was going to be a long night.

--

Hermione had knocked two times—Draco hadn't heard her, the first, or the second time.

"We should let them sleep," Harry offered.

"She's in there, I know it!" Hermione knocked again, loudly, and they heard a groan.

Ron, with his usual temper, cut between the two others, and opened the door.

Draco was in the corner of the room, on a sofa, fast asleep. The silk robe was still on his body, and besides that he was only wearing black boxers. Blaise was sleeping on the carpet, right in front of him, at his feet—his white nightshirt and boxer briefs the only thing covering his body—he shivered a bit at the cold, and whimpered, flattering closer to the rug. Ginny was sprawled out on the bed—her pink nightdress a bit ruffled to reveal a piece of her thigh.

At the sound of the door clicking back into the hinges, Blaise woke, yawning widely. His hazy eyes focused on his position on the floor, then flipped to the bed. When he noticed the disturbing female-like form on it, he screamed loudly in shock—in less than a second he'd gotten to his feet and had locked himself in the bathroom.

"Shut up," Draco groaned, throwing a pillow at the source of the noise.

Blaise whimpered and called: "Draco, there's a woman on your bed!"

"No there isn't," just to be sure, he peeked one eye open, "Blaise, it's fine, she's died!"

Cautiously, Blaise opened the bathroom door. When he saw that Ginny was not moving, at all, he sighed in relief. Then he caught side of the three teens by the door, and smiled apologetically.

"My condolences—if you ask me, it's that horrid frock that caused it all," he explained with an encouraging nod.

Harry, Hermione and Ron were not amused.

Draco opened his eyes completely now, giving a jaw-cracking yawn, and stilled as he saw Ronald—staring at him with something curious in his eyes.

He got up immediately, wrapping his robe tighter around himself. Memories of the other day came flooding back, and he could _suddenly feel Ron's hot skin on my hot flesh and…_ his knees buckled and Blaise caught him before he crashed down.

"There you go Dray," he helped him to the bed, and Draco refused to meet anyone's look, "I told you, you're getting sick."

"I'm not sick," he muttered, "we should wake up the Weaslette, her friends look worried."

"Well, I propose we poke her with a stick," Blaise offered cheerfully—Harry, Hermione and Ron looked scandalized.

Instead, Draco carefully prodded her side.

"Wake up Weaslette, I'd like my bed back," Draco calmly tried waking her, placing his palm on her shoulder and pushing, "I'm not kidding. I want it back!"

"Mrrm," she made a weird nose, flattering into the duvet, "but I help…" and she snored loudly.

"You know," Blaise took the empty transparent bottle of firewhiskey from next to the redhead's hand, inspecting it, "this was still half-full when we fell asleep…"

"Oy!" Draco poked her harshly, and she shrieked, "you are not drooling on that, get off!" and he hosted her up his arms.

She just turned and flattered her head against Draco's bare chest.

"I'm dropping you," he said flatly, and was about to do just that, when Ron heaved her from his arms, into his own—when Draco saw his face, red with furry, he started stuttering, "I wasn't… really going to—"

"Fuck off," Ron bit, and left the room without another word—Hermione and Harry followed him, and Draco dropped to the bed.

"Okay baby," Blaise said in his most-concerned tone, just as the door closed again, "can you now stop pretending nothing happened, and tell me what's going on?"

Now, being ignored by Ronald was not nice at all—but the grin on Blaise's face, after he'd told everything, _is worse, because he'll make him pay, one way or another._

--

Draco had to admit that Blaise's plan of action might not be the best he'd ever had—making the redhead even more jealous than he already was? But then again, he reasoned, Ron saw them as through now, and if Draco could only make the redhead see that he didn't _really_ want them to be through, it might just fix it.

All in all, it was a plan of many flaws. But if that failed, Draco decided that he would just have to talk to Ronald instead. As for now, everyone was already having breakfast when they entered the kitchen—except for Ginny, who was probably fast asleep in her own bed.

"Drake, sit here," Blaise pulled the blonde on his lap—he was on the chair next to Harry's—leaving no room for arguments, and Charlie gave them a wink, "I'm more comfortable than a chair baby."

"You just wanna have something to lean against, mean sod," Draco was proven right, as Blaise tipped his head down to lean on Draco's back, wrapping his arms securely around the slim waist, "coffee?"

"Mmm, yes please," Blaise nuzzled Draco behind his ear and watched the blonde pour him a cup—Bill offered his own, and Draco filled it too, before setting the pot back down, "thanks love."

They heard a small eep from by the door, and everyone turned to it, frowning—just in time to see a tuff of red hair running off.

"What was that?" Blaise asked, confused.

"That would be Ginny," Remus said, taking the pot of tea, "she's not very used to seeing half-naked boys."

He indicated the very dark, very naked chest of Blaise, and the raven chuckled.

"Ah, I get it," he turned to the blonde atop his lap—the boy was in his pyjama's, with a silk robe over it—he had felt quite sentimental, and had decided to wear his father's old robe, "Dray, give me your robe."

"What?" Draco glared—_no way can I give him this,_ "no!"

"Ooh, are you naked under it," Blaise suddenly got a sneaky glint in his eyes, and he tugged the robe open—to reveal the black shirt, "you're wearing clothes under there! Give it to me!"

"I'm cold," Draco snarled—and some of the others laughed.

"But Dray, I'm nake—"

He was interrupted by Draco's loud voice, the boy's eyes dark grey in anger.

"It was my dad's and you're not getting it!" he got up, undid the robe, then pulled his shirt off over his head, and threw it on Blaise's lap—the boy's eyes were wide as saucers, and he pulled the fabric over his own head, just before Draco returned to his original place on top of the boy, "now you're not naked anymore."

When he looked up, he saw that everyone was a bit startled by his outburst. He coughed, and took some pumpkin juice for himself.

"Thank you Dray," as a matter of apology, he pressed a kiss to the back of Draco's neck—and _when Ron does that it makes me shiver all over_, but he felt nothing.

They jumped when Blaise's pants started vibrating, and he swore crudely.

"Damn, my mum," he urged the blonde to get off his lap, and fished his mobile from his pocket, "Leonardo told me earlier she knows he was with us at the beach," he bit his lip, staring at the small device, "I have to take this."

He left the kitchen, but not before Draco called: "Blaise? Be nice to her. I wouldn't much like it if you died."

He smiled and gave a small wave, before disappearing—they heard him answer, and then his voice was gone—Draco sat back on the chair, next to Harry.

"Why can't his mother know you went to the beach?" the raven asked, truly interested.

Draco took a piece of toast, and thought the question over.

"Well, if misses Zabini finds out Blaise enjoys the company of other boys, she would probably disown him, right?" he looked at Pothead to see if the boy understood—he nodded in answer, "if it so happens to be that he shagged the son of a servant, she will kill him."

"What would it matter that he's the son of a servant," Granger interfered bossily, "he could turn out to be a multimillionaire."

"You don't understand," Draco shook his head, "for all she cares he grows up to be a stripper. But he'll always remain the son of a servant."

"But—" she began to protest but Draco shushed her.

"Listen, that's just the way it goes, okay," he snapped at her and she leaned back in her chair, indignant and sulking, "I know I'm not one to speak since my parents had to die for me to find out that it's fucked up as hell," Sirius bit his lip, taking the blonde's hand in comfort, _but I don't need it,_ "but misses Zabini is a very traditional pure-blood, and to fall in love with a servant's son would be a disgrace. The only thing worse would be if he shagged a muggle-born, I suppose she'd kill him slowly if that was the case."

He drank from his cup and bit in the bread, turning when Blaise re-entered the kitchen.

"What did she say?" he asked, and the raven swiped the sweat from his brow—he'd been very nervous and frightened as hell.

"She said that it's nice of me to show the boy around," he wrapped an arm around Draco's hips, pulled him off the chair, then pulled him back onto his own lap, "and she thinks I'm friendly for offering to be his friend, but she would prefer it if I didn't come anywhere near him again."

Draco kissed his forehead sweetly, in comfort, and muttered: "'m sorry Blaise."

"Oh please," he shrugged it off and rubbed his nose against Draco's, "we've been shagging for ages without her knowing—I'm not planning on stopping now. I just gotta make sure his mum keeps her crap mouth shut."

"How the hell was she supposed to know she couldn't say anything!" Granger fell in hotly—always fighting for everybody's rights.

Blaise scowled at her—and Draco rested his head in his hand—Blaise scowling was not a good thing.

"I don't give a fuck about how she's supposed to know," his voice was cold as ice, and Draco could see her shudder vaguely, "all I care about is how she nearly got me murdered—don't fucking mess with things you know nothing about you stupid—"

Draco covered his mouth with his hand, and kissed his forehead quickly, effectively shutting him up.

"Blaise, stop worrying," Blaise's eyes softened, and their looks met, "we're talking about the woman who finds porn under your bed every other day, but still believes you when you say you're not into boys and are still a virgin. You're a master at what you—your mother will not find out, she won't murder you, and you'll be just fine. She loves you no matter what, and Leonardo knows that this is dangerous but he's not going anywhere. Now eat," he let go of Blaise's mouth, and stuffed a bit of toast in it, making him splutter, "cause I wanna go do something fun."

"Then let's go," Blaise swallowed and Draco frowned, biting off some toast himself.

"You haven't eaten yet," he pointed out, but his friend just shrugged.

"'m full," he assured the blonde, and they stood.

Just to be sure he took some extra pieces of toast as Blaise left, calling: "I have a great idea of what we could do baby!"

Draco scowled, carefully wrapping the toast in a napkin.

"We're not having sex Blaise!"

And they heard a chuckle coming from the other boy.

--

"Are those pants?"

Draco and Blaise looked up when they heard Granger's voice—they were on the second floor, in the living room there, after asking permission from Sirius—the door was wide open and they could hear her talking clearly.

Not much later she appeared in the doorway, holding Blaise's pyjama-pants. Their clothes were on the sofa, mostly, but Blaise had lost his pants back in the hallway. They were on the floor, in their boxers—Blaise's briefs tight and white, Draco's boxer shorts pitch black, his father's key loosely around his neck—and they were claying.

"Ah, thanks," Blaise gave a nod, working on his figurine.

"Why are you guys naked?" Pothead wondered aloud, his eyes wide at the sight.

"We didn't want our clothes to get dirty," Draco didn't speak, focusing on his work, "it makes sense when you're tipsy."

"Again?" Ginny laughed—she'd gotten up not-so-long ago, and was holding her brother's hand, still a bit drowsy.

Blaise nodded, and poked Draco with his toe.

"Baby, we were in the middle of a conversation, remember?" he reminded the blonde—they'd been talking about sex.

"We can't, I promised Molly we'd try to behave in front of minors," he gave Ginny a point, and the girl's huffed, insulted.

"I can take it! I was there yesterday!"

"We didn't talk about sex yesterday," Blaise smashed his clay against the floor, kneading it, "we were talking about Draco's journeys."

"I could handle it," she huffed again.

"That's not the point. The point is I promised your mother I wouldn't, so I won't," he took a bottle of water, dipping his fingers in to better handle the clay, "because she's very nice to me and I don't want to go against her wishes when it comes to something as trivial as this. Now you can either shut the fuck up or leave us alone."

"I made a triangle!" Blaise exclaimed happily, showing Draco his perfect square—the blonde giggled, and the others rolled their eyes, leaving the room.

They spent the entire afternoon making figures out of the clay—each time Blaise was finished he swore he'd made a triangle, even though all his things were obviously squares—until they decided to show their things to Sirius. They ran through the house like headless chickens, in their sleeping shirts and boxers, until Blaise bumped into the man—and giggled cheekily.

"I made triangles!" he dropped his things in Sirius' hands, and went into the living room, crashing on the couch.

"He made squares," Draco corrected, and followed his friend—Sirius looked dumbfounded, and followed the blonde as he continued talking, "but he's in denial."

"I see you boys had fun," Remus smiled when he saw the state of them—little specks of clay everywhere, on their legs, their faces, their arms—he was busy talking to Hermione about Werewolf rights, but Draco was too busy shoving Blaise's feet away to notice.

"I made triangles!" Blaise repeated, and Sirius set his clay work on the side-table, showing one to Remus.

"They're squares," Remus said, confused.

"Don't ask," Draco shook his head and gave a tired yawn, "let's sleep!"

"What did you make Draco?" Sirius asked, wondering if perhaps he'd made squares which turned out to be circles.

"He made art!" Blaise gave him a drunken wink, and crawled over to the other side of the couch, flattering his head against the boy's chest, "show him!"

"It's not art," Draco grumbled, clamping on to the clay figurine he held in his hand.

"Is too!" the black boy turned to Sirius, eyes a bit queasy, "he's great at artistic crap!"

"Show me," the man sat down on the arm-rest, carefully taking the sculpture from the pale boy.

It was the beginning of the body of a man—perfect back, abs, chest—running from the neck to just below the thighs. It was unfinished, had no arms, legs or head. Sirius looked at it in awe—the muscles were perfectly depicted and rather realistic, even the male's anatomy was in perfect proportion with the rest of his body.

"Draco…" Sirius sounded rather breathless, and Remus looked up in confusion—Harry and Ron too, focused on the man, since he sounded as if he'd run a mile, "this is amazing, how did you…"

"I can tell you one thing," Blaise said, a soft, tired tone, "it sure as hell isn't based on my body."

"It's nothing," Draco waved it off, his eyes fixing on Sirius' expression, though he felt a bit lightheaded, _Sirius interest clears my head._

"No Draco, this is fantastic," Sirius beckoned at Remus, and the brunette stood from his place on the ground, "you got to see this Remi, it's incredible. Where did you learn to do this?"

"From myself," Draco furrowed his brows, "where else?"

"You should see his drawings," Blaise patted the boy's back, as a sign to say, 'well done!' or something equally weird and Blaise-like.

"The details are very good," Remus' look flit to the blonde, before he looked back at the small figurine—it fit perfectly from the palm of Sirius' arm, to his elbow—running over the thighs of the man, "the muscles…"

"What am I supposed to say?" Draco asked coldly, "thank you? Please don't feel like you must be nice to me—I didn't even want to show you in the first place!"

"Draco, it's not a bad thing," Remus tried to explain, "why shouldn't we be allowed to praise your work?"

"You're just saying that because you feel like you have to," the blonde said—and there was a sombre tone set to his voice.

Sirius sighed and sat down on the armrest again, wrapping his arm around the blonde and pulling him to him—causing Blaise to slump down against the couch instead.

"That's not true," Remus frowned, "why would we say something like this if it's not true. There's no need to lie, and we wouldn't. You must understand that this," he indicated the statue, "really is a work of art. I know no one that can craft this sort of thing."

"It's just…" Draco blushed and Blaise chuckled, leaning his head against his shoulder.

"I have this drawing he made," the boy started feeling around in the pocket of his shirt, and Draco groaned, "I keep it with me wherever I go."

He unfolded the paper, and handed it to Remus—the drawing was of Blaise himself, reading a book, a small smirk on his face—he smiled at the sight of it, the shadows giving the picture a darker look, and everything in perfect detail. From the smirk on the boy's face to the folds of his shirt.

"You really are good at this," Remus leaned forward to kiss the blonde's cheek, "I don't care whether you want to see that yourself or not."

He sat back with Hermione, and Sirius set the figurine on the side table.

"You should keep it," he kissed the other cheek, "it might make you an even richer man one day. And you," he ruffled Blaise's hair, and the boy muttered something incoherently, eyes closed, "very nice triangles."

At this Draco laughed, shoved his friend off, and made himself comfortable on the couch. Blaise whined as he hit the floor, but rolled himself into a ball, and fell asleep not a second later—Draco yawned again, flattering his head against the side of the couch, _my head's not spinning anymore,_ but he felt a bit tired and lanky, out-of-place.

When Ron left the room, Draco couldn't help but notice how his eyes flit to the statue on the side table, and how his eyes lit up at the mere sight of it.

--

"Blaise is leaving," Draco announced, as Blaise went over to thank Sirius.

"Thank you for letting me stay here," he kissed the man's cheek, then went to Remus, "mister Lupin."

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to stay for dinner mister Zabini?" misses Weasley smiled, setting the pans on the table.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he slipped his arm around Draco's waist, though his eyes were boring into Ron's—Draco didn't notice, he was too busy watching misses Weasley, "my mother demanded I'd come home for dinner tonight. Cookie's making my favourite."

"Cookie?" Molly asked, not understanding.

"What's her name again?" Blaise turned to Draco.

"Erm… the cook's name…" he thought it over, "the old woman? I think… isn't it something weird like Macy?"

"You... you have a cook?" Draco could see from the look in her eye that Molly really wanted to be Blaise in that moment—but the boy merely shrugged.

"My mother finds house-elves to be a nuisance," he let go of Draco, "I really have to go. Thanks for having me."

"I'll walk you to the door," Draco guided his friend out of the kitchen, and Blaise gave him a little strange look, "what?"

"Talk to him," Blaise said simply, "he's been close to murdering me every single time I even as much as touched you. I don't know if he loves you—I'm sure he _does_—but I know he _wants_ you. And that's something to go by," they stopped at the door, "so talk to him."

The only problem was that _talking_, was not what Draco had in mind for his beautiful redhead.

--

It was already dark outside, the light of the pale half-full moon shining into the house through every window. Draco had made himself comfortable against the wall in the hallway—he knew Ron passed here every day, to go say goodnight to his mother before going to sleep. There was a very convenient, empty room, not a step away, and what was best, was the big window inside of it. It was guaranteed to be filled with light, so Draco wouldn't have to worry about not being able to see Ron as they talked.

He looked up when someone turned the corner, glad to see it was Ronald—already in his too small pyjamas, focused on buttoning up his shirt as he walked—he started smiling prematurely. When Ron noticed him, he paused only briefly, before continuing, deciding he could just ignore the blonde if necessary.

"Come with me," when Ron was at eyelevel with him, Draco pulled him into the empty room—Ron protested, but Draco pushed him into the wall, putting a finger to his lips to shush him, "I think it's only fair I get a chance to say something."

He waited for Ron to calm down, before stepping back, willing to show the boy that if he really insisted on leaving he could do so. Ron looked at him curiously, but didn't move, leaning into the wall, the last button on his shirt still undone.

"I understand that you don't like Blaise," he started, trying to sound composed, _even though it is killing me,_ "and I respect that—but you have to understand that I don't love him like I love you," he bit his lip, and saw Ron's eyes light up at the simple words, "he could never make me feel this way and I understand if you think we're through, but I need you—I don't know what you did to me," and suddenly he sounded desperate, and he felt all alone, "but it doesn't even seem to matter anymore, _anything_, and the only thing I care about is naming the exact shade of your hair and counting all the freckles on your skin," Ron placed his hands carefully on the blonde's hips, but Draco wasn't finished, "I need you to know I never cheated, or intend to do so, because only you can have me like this, and I love no one in the way that I love you. I wish there was some way I could prove to you that only you can have me—I am only yours."

He averted his eyes, nervous. Ron—assured the blonde was done ranting—didn't say a word, but pulled him into his own body, and then connected their lips hotly. Draco couldn't help but moan into the kiss, _it's been so long,_ and his arms wrapped around Ron's shoulder on instinct. He pressed into the other as hard as he could, needing to feel him against him—Ron pushed back just as hard, so it was _okay_. Their lips refused to separate, kissing hungrily, biting and licking at each other.

Draco used Ron's shoulders to jump up, wrapping his legs around the redhead's waist, as they finally stopped their kiss, in need for air. Ron stared at the blonde's reddened lips, wanting them on his own again. But before he could react, Draco was kissing down his neck, tearing his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere.

"Oh Merlin," Ron gasped and his head tipped back, connecting with the wall harshly—his hand settled on Draco's bum, groping as he brought him up closer, "baby... we..."

The blonde pushed their bodies away from the wall, clamping his thighs around Ron's hips and effectively turning their positions, so that now it was him being driven into the tapestry. Ron made a small noise in the back of his throat when he felt Draco's tongue slide down his chest, circling his nipples and going up again—he squeezed his arse tighter, digging his fingers into his thigh—and tried his best to focus long enough in order to get Draco's shirt off.

"Drake..." he tried to let the blonde know he was teetering, and with a grunt of dissatisfaction, Draco untangled himself long enough to pull his shirt off over his head.

Satisfied at seeing the pale chest, Ron kissed his lover again, and their hands worked their ways down each other's body—Draco just couldn't get enough, and he slid them up and down over the broad back, over and over again. He gave Ron's face kisses all over, sweetly mapping his cheeks, his nose, his chin, not letting a single spot go untouched, as Ron's hands returned to his ass.

Ron grew aggravated when he stumbled again, unable to undo the buttons on the blonde's jeans. The noises he made when Ron brushed against him—trying to succeed in his task—didn't help either, and only managed to distract him further. Draco had no trouble getting Ron naked, tugging the pyjama bottoms down, he then pushed them further off the tanned body with his feet, until they pooled at Ron's ankles—his boxers following not far after.

Their lips met again in an unhurried kiss, Ron's palms cupping the blonde's head, as the other's nails dug into his own back. Their tongues twisted lazily, contradicting the urge Draco felt, building up in his loins. His hands slipped down Ron's sweaty shoulders—softly stroking at his bum—and he relished the groan Ron let slip between their lips. When they pulled apart—a single string of salvia connecting their lips—Draco suddenly noticed that he wasn't naked yet, though wanting Ron, _very_ bad.

"Ronald..." his voice was squeaky, and he thrust his hips against Ron's, trying to make clear what he wanted, "please hurry," he begged, and the redhead groaned at the wanton sound, leaning his weight into the smaller body completely, "_please_..."

"I can't..." Ron's head dropped against Draco's shoulder, and for an anxious minute the blonde stopped his trashing—eyes shifting nervously—afraid he'd done something wrong. Ron's breath was hot against his damp skin, and he swallowed thickly, "I can't get them off."

He moaned when their hips moved together, and Draco sighed in relief. His hands left Ron's back, undoing the buttons quickly, even though his fingers were slippery. He unwrapped himself from the taller body, dropped to the floor, pushed down his jeans and underwear, and clambered back up—Ron helped him, jabbing his fingers into the pale ass and holding him so he could wrap his legs around his waist again—and held onto Ron for dear life.

"Do you have..." Ron's voice faltered and he kissed the blonde again—Draco's eyes were roving his body appreciatively, and the tension was too much—meshing their waists together, "I need lube..."

"No," the blonde purred darkly at the sensation, and moved his hips, shifting slightly, "please Ron."

The soft demand broke Ron's resolve, and he nodded, sliding his body against the smaller one. He angled his hips, securing his hands on his lover's arse, so he could hold him tight to his body.

"Please," Draco pleaded again, and their eyes locked. The blonde brought his knees up higher, his heels sliding against the other's lower back—he grasped onto a tan shoulder with one hand, while he brought Ron's head down into a kiss with the other one, "_Ronald, please._"

He could feel the redhead's breath against his cheek, and as he pushed in—slow but pinpointed—they both stopped breathing, a gasp stealing away their air. Draco watched Ron's eyes flutter shut for a mere second, before they opened again, staring at the pale face with a look of pure bliss. He made a pleased noise, and kissed the blonde's chin, as he began moving carefully, watching Draco for any signs of discomfort. When none where shown, he trusted himself to move slightly faster, knowing that he wouldn't be able to take much more. Draco knew they were already close, the lack of contact in the past days making them reach their peak much faster than usually—they were throbbing and hot and sweating and panting, bodies slipping against each other's—and he did his best to meet Ron's thrusts, already worn out. His thighs trembled and he arched his back, purring softly, before letting a harsh moan slip past his lips—he pushed closer to Ron, his hand sticky against the broad back, while he placed the other on Ron's cheek.

Ron was still intently watching him, as he bit his lip—even when his own eyes trailed down to look at their interlinked waists briefly—and he let out a soft hum of contentment, each time Draco moaned when their hips met.

"I..." Ron tried talking, and his breath heated the skin of Draco's neck, as he kissed it softly—his hands dug deeper into his ass possessively, and Draco knew he was leaving a lovebite, "...missed you."

In answer Draco whimpered, pushing his shoulder blades against the wall—he knew he was going to regret that later, and that his shoulders would be sore—wanting to feel Ron's chest against his own. Ron's hands slipped over his bum and settled on his hips, holding him as they moved faster, until the redhead groaned Draco's name and came, pulling Draco's waist tight against his own.

Draco mewled hoarsely at the sensation—his lover spilling himself into his spent body, causing him to purr in acquiescence—the feeling was always odd, but he liked it anyways. His fingers scraped over Ron's skin, as he too, came hard—hoarsely calling Ron's name into the hot air.

The redhead's knees wobbled, too weak to keep them up they fell to the floor, since Draco didn't trust his own legs to carry the both of them. They were trembling, and he had goosebumps all over his skin—their figures shivered and shook in their climax, reducing them to sweaty messes of blubber—Ron collapsed into the blonde's chest, laying oddly between his thighs, their waists still connected.

Draco brought his hands down—trembling still, his breathing hard—to Ron's abs, carefully pushing him out of his body. The move resulted in another shake, and his spine shivered, his eyes hazy. He could feel Ron moving carefully, softly sighing as he flattered against Draco's chest, his eyes drooping shut. His hands lay unmoving on Draco's hips, and Draco stroked some of the sweaty red hair from the tanned face, tracing his jaw with a finger.

"That felt amazing," he whispered, and Ron nodded in consent, "I missed you too Ronald."

"I'm sorry," Ron murmured, his sweaty cheek against Draco's sweaty chest, and _it's fine_, "I know I haven't been good to you lately," he sounded ashamed, but all Draco did was run his fingers through the vibrant red, "Sirius and Remus told Harry about their relationship, and he's been really angry because they told you first, but trying to be nice because it shows they care about you," this came as a surprise to Draco—_why didn't they tell me about it?_—but he didn't let it show, "and I suppose I was a bit upset too, because you didn't tell me—even though I know you weren't supposed to—and then that stupid faggot came along and... I'm just..." he sighed, and tipped his head to look up at his lover, "sorry."

"Don't be," Draco bent over—a little awkwardly—to press a chaste kiss to the other's lips, his breathing still too hard, "as long as you know that Blaise is just my best friend—we've always been like this towards each other. I don't love him like this—I want no one else but you Ronald."

Ron's eyes shimmered dangerously at the mentioning of Blaise, and for a minute Draco feared he might have pissed him off again—but Ron smiled feebly, and gave him another kiss—and _I know it's going to be a while before he gets over it, but at least he's trying._

"This has to be the best birthday present I've ever gotten," the redhead said with a yawn, a satisfied smile on his face, "I love you."

Draco blinked in confusion instead of returning the murmured words—_his birthday?_

"It's your birthday?" he asked, in shock—how couldn't he have known that it was Ron's birthday?

"No," Ron chuckled, "tomorrow, I'm turning seventeen."

"I can't believe you're a year older, I turned sixteen in June," Draco sulked, and he wiped the sweat from his brow, "and that I didn't know. Or that I didn't get you a present!"

"I can think of one or two things," Ron murmured hoarsely, and he lifted himself lazily, attaching his lips to Draco's neck.

"I meant something giftwrapable," Draco tipped his head back for easier access, "you can't put a ribbon around sex."

"I could put a ribbon around you," Ron took a hold of Draco's thighs, and pulled him down from his seated position against the wall, under his own body until he just had to bend down in order to kiss his lips, "I would like you in a ribbon."

"But you can't brag with me in a ribbon Ronald," Draco bit his lip playfully, and Ron nuzzled his ear.

"I think a lot of people would be jealous if they knew I had you in a ribbon," he commented, before slacking again—realising his arms were too weak and he was drained—he fell down atop the blonde.

"I think you need sleep," the blonde manoeuvred out from under his lover, getting to his feet slowly—once almost tripping, but he managed to stay upright by using the wall as leverage—before helping Ron up, "come on."

Draco took their clothes, deciding that they were close enough to his own room to make it without being seen completely naked. He wrapped his arm around the redhead's waist when he realised just how weak his knees were, and helped him to the door, his head leaning against Draco's shoulder.

"Baby," Ron kissed the lovebite he'd left on the pale skin, and Draco turned his head to meet his gaze, "let me sleep with you? Please?"

"Only if you hurry," Draco kissed him quickly, before opening the door.

After checking if the coast was clear, they made a run for it, spurting to the other side of the hallway to reach Draco's door—and it was insane, because they were too tired, and Draco could feel all his muscles protesting, but he'd be damned if he got dressed now.

Inside Draco dropped their clothes by the door, before they collapsed onto the bed, lying horizontal, _even though it's wrong, I don't care_. Draco gave a tired yawn, and Ron swore, muttering about his legs seemingly being made of blubber. The blonde reached over for a pillow, propping it under his head while Ron made himself at home on the blonde's chest, his feet dangling from the side of the bed. It was hot inside the room, and their bodies had yet to cool down, so they didn't take the blankets, but instead lay there in silence, completely exposed to whoever walked through the door.

Soon, Draco heard Ron's soft breathing even out, a sure sign he'd fallen asleep—and it wasn't until he was assured that his redhead was comfortable and resting, that he himself fell asleep.

**AN: I know clay doesn't dry this fast. I needs an entire night, at the least, but I'm pretending it's magical clay and dries faster. Kudos for those who figure out who it's based on –pff, like it's hard ! wait… that sounded wrong…**

**I hate it when they talk after sex -_-' I hate it even more when I make them... was I too sappy? Probably... well, figures if your head is filled with the nonsense mine is ! I also suppose that the sex was bad... even though they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ah well... review if you want the next lovies !**

**Love,**

**Li'll ol' Crazy4Moony ^^  
**


	15. Dense and Dance

15. Dense and Dance

**AN: to JaceDamian23 (again :P) I'm off to Japan, and I gotta pack my bags, but I wanted to update this quickly before I was gone, so yeah, but, I swear that as soon as I'm back home, I will e-mail the HELL outta you ! SO YOU BETTER BEWARE THE CRAZY4MOONY CRAZYNESS !  
**

**anyone who knows what the song is (you'll understand when you get there) before Ron mentions it, extra imaginary cookies ! It's quite simple, I believe, and I left some obvious hints ^^**

**I noticed a mistake in chapter 13. It says: '"Mmph," Draco said articulately, and George nearly fell off his chair in chuckles.' But Fred and George weren't even there ^^ so it was supposed to be Sirius. Sorry for the mistake !**

Draco wasn't sure what it had been exactly that woke him up. It could've been the noises coming from the room above theirs. Or the loud thuds of footsteps—maybe even the two gasps, following each other instantly. Actually, he was rather sure it had been the loud slam of the bedroom door, as someone shut it.

In his sleep-drunken mind, he didn't register it as a possible bad sign, and turned onto his side, wanting nothing more than to fall into slumber again. Ron's tired body followed the smaller frame on instinct, realising he'd moved even though the redhead was still fast asleep, and he spooned close to Draco's backside, draping an arm across his waist.

When someone coughed, and Draco could _not_ feel it against his neck, as he would have if it had been Ron, his eyes shot open. He turned again, sitting upright as quick as possible, ready to attack if necessary. When he caught sight of the intruders, he glared and grabbed a pillow, covering his naked body up as well as he could.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" he hissed, and Granger and Weaslette continued to watch them with something of awe.

"Molly wants to talk to you," Granger snapped back to reality—_how dare she ogle Ronald like that, the bitch_—and stared at the window instead, "and she wants Ron to get dressed."

Said redhead made a small noise, running his hand up over Draco's leg, to squeeze his thigh. He started waking up, and blinked drowsily, before noticing that his lover wasn't lying beside him anymore.

"Why're you up?" his voice was thick with sleep, "it's too early baby."

"Your mother wants you to dress freckles," Draco shook him gentle, urging him to get up.

Ron opened his eyes, puzzled, and when he saw the two girls he jumped, trying to cover himself up by hiding behind the blonde's back—at which Draco rolled his eyes—and he tugged at the duvet, bringing it to rest around his own waist and Ron's.

"What're you doing here!" the redhead shrieked, gladly taking the blanket, and wrapping his arms around Draco's naked form protectively.

"Like I said," Hermione said, irritated, "your mother says you should dress."

"She put your clothes on your bed, seeing as you weren't there," Ginny continued, looking pointedly at Draco, as if trying to see right through him, "she also wants to talk to you Draco."

"You could've knocked!" Ron said, face red and he sounded insulted.

"We did," Weaslette giggled, "multiple times actually."

"What about Harry?" Granger looked at the both of them as if they were dirty and smelled foul, "don't you think he'll want to know where you were?"

"Okay, that's it," Draco got off the bed, holding the pillow in front of his privates, and opened the door, "leave."

"I think—" Granger started in her know-it-all tone, but he interrupted her.

"This is _my_ room," he pointed towards the hallway, "and you will leave when _I_ tell you so."

His voice held no room for discussion, and the girls left, albeit begrudgingly. He rolled his eyes and turned to Ron, who was still somewhat befuddled on the bed. He looked damn sexy, puzzled and half naked, the span of his chest and stomach showing, the blanket reaching just below his hips, showcasing all his freckles and all the lankiness there was to Ronald Weasley. Draco licked his lips, and gave him a predatory look, slowly getting closer to the bed, dropping the pillow on his way—Ron's eyes widened slightly, fixing pointedly on the blonde's groin.

"I think we should stay in bed a little while longer," he said, voice gruff, as he crawled back onto the bed—Ron swallowed at the hungry look in his eyes, and was forced to lean back against the duvet, as his lover started kissing down his chest, the cold metal of Lucius' key sliding over his skin, "because I'm famished," he licked the tan navel, and Ron moaned, their eyes locking, "and you taste fucking gorgeous."

--

When Draco finally made it downstairs—having left Ron to compose himself and get dressed in his own room—it was still too early, barely even nine, and there were far too much redheads. They all looked a bit strangely at him, and Draco tried counting them as he made his way to the kitchen—he stopped when he'd counted twenty-three of them, deciding he had enough.

The kitchen was crowded, and apparently everyone had had breakfast already, because there was no familiar redhead in sight. Then he saw Molly talking to some very old lady, and he went over to her—getting weird looks, as if being blonde and dressed in sweats and a t-shirt is really out of the ordinary—tapping her on the shoulder politely.

The old woman paused, and he got a good look at her—very old, grey streaks through the red, wrinkles and everything, bad choice of clothes—_is that Ronald's..._

"Grandma!" at that point Ginny came into the kitchen, and she greeted the woman with a big smile.

Ginny was rather dressed up, wearing a long blue dressing gown, her hair up in a bun with some stray locks hanging freely.

"Ginevra," the woman smiled and they hugged, as Draco gently eased Molly away from them.

"Misses Weasley, what's going on?" he gave the kitchen another look, indicating the redheads.

"As you probably know," Molly smiled, giving a wave to a newcomer—even though they all looked the same to Draco, "it's Ronald's seventeenth birthday. It's habitual for us to invite the whole family to celebrate—it's a rather... traditional occasion," she smiled, gesturing the other Weasleys, who, now that he paid better attention, were all rather fancily dressed, "it's supposed to be a surprise, since Ronald was under the impression we wouldn't be celebrating because we're staying here, but Sirius insisted we had the party. I hope you don't mind," and Draco for a second feared that she was about to tell him that he had to stay up in his room all day, hiding and not making a sound, "but could you wear your dressrobes? Or a suit? I'm sure you have something appropriate, something formal."

Draco obviously relaxed, and he nodded.

"Of course," he looked around again, "would you like me to help with the preparations?"

"That's not necessary love," she patted his arm in a manner of thank-you, "everyone's had breakfast already though... if you could bring this up to Ron," she handed him two plates, stacked with toast, eggs and bacon, "and make sure he doesn't come down until we get him. We're still working on the yard."

"Okay, and the other?" he took the plates from her, and she shook with silent laughter.

"Sweetheart, the other plate's for you," she explained, her voice slightly mocking.

Kissing his cheek with a shake of her head, she pushed him back to the door. Draco made his way through the redheads, and up the stairs, hoping that Pothead hadn't joined his lover by now. He was halfway down the corridor when Ginny caught up with him, a wide grin on her face. He gave her a disdainful look, and they walked in silence. When they neared the door to the boys' bedroom, they heard the two friends argue.

"That's ridiculous," Pothead said in disbelief, "I know for a fact that you didn't sleep on the couch because—"

The blonde knew immediately what they were talking about, and, as a matter of distraction, he pushed Ginny forwards—she connected with the door, and it flew open—she tripped and nearly fell to the floor.

"Malfoy!" she glared at him, but he ignored it, stepping into the room with an air of superiority.

Harry and Ron both looked like dears caught in headlights, shocked at the sudden intrusion. Ron was on his bed, face red, and Harry was standing, his eyes darting to the blonde, then to Ginny and back again. Ron had changed back into the clothes he'd been wearing the other night—the buttons missing peculiarly—his dressrobes still on the bed.

"Breakfast," he set the plate on the desk, and Harry spluttered, stuttering to find something to say, "misses Weasley is cleaning," he continued, giving them both a blank stare, "she said you should stay up here until she's done."

Then he turned, planning on leaving the three, dumbfounded, and have breakfast in his own room. When he headed back to the door though, Ginny stopped him, hand on his wrist.

"Stay here for breakfast," she pulled him back, onto Harry's bed, "unless you rather go back to your bedroom and mope."

"I don't _mope_ Weaslette," he sneered, "I sit there and act refined and composed. Malfoys don't mope."

Pothead chuckled and Draco sent him a questioning glance, at which he stilled immediately. The blonde made himself more comfortable and started on his food—Ron continued to stare at his own plate, face scrunched in mild confusion.

"It's me' birthday," he muttered angrily, before flopping down onto the bed, "and I gotta stay up here all day?"

"That reminds me," Harry suddenly smiled, and he ducked under his bed, seemingly looking for something, "I got you a present!"

Draco sent him a jealous glare, _stupid Pothead, stupid present_, and couldn't help but laugh joylessly.

"Oh yes, how appropriate, from fighting to giving gifts, aren't you swell?" before scooping up some egg.

Potter bumped his head as he re-emerged from under the bed, caught by surprise at the comment. Ron rubbed his temples.

"You heard that?"

"It was hard to miss," Ginny admitted, an apologetic smile on her lips. Draco said nothing and ate his breakfast. There was a very awkward silence, and Ginny scraped her throat, determined to clear it, "how come you haven't changed yet Ron?"

"I... I haven't had the time," he gave a small cough, "I'll do it now."

He picked his robes up from the bed, and went into the bathroom to change. Draco still didn't say anything, instead focussing on his food. They all waited patiently for Ron to return, Ginny humming along a tune, and Harry sitting down across from Draco, carefully avoiding any eye contact.

When Ron re-entered the bedroom, he was nervously tugging his sleeves, and the sight of him literally took Draco's breath away. His robes—obviously new ones, and not those ugly rags he'd worn to the Yule ball—were a dark grey, but closer to white than to black, with little red accents. It wasn't so much the suit that did it, Draco realised, but he'd stripped himself of his outer robes, and the clothes hung to every single curve of his body perfectly, hugging his waist and shoulders in all the right places.

At his soft gasp, Pothead gave him an odd look, and he sneered to hide his appreciation.

"Stop pulling, you'll ruin it," he scolded, and Ron's hands fell from his cuffs, his look a bit fearful.

"You look stunning," Ginny smiled, and she went over to fix his collar, "they're Sirius' birthday present. Though he has something else, but I don't know what it is."

"It feels a bit weird," Ron flapped his arms up and down, and Draco chuckled, rolling his eyes at the typical redhead behaviour.

"You look great mate," Harry assured, smiling kindly.

"You're just not used to being in dressrobes," his sisters assisted, and she smoothed the sleeves, "you're very handsome. Draco," at this Draco's eyes widened and he swallowed thickly, _what?_

"Yeah," he answered, for the first time in his life, nerves sounding through.

"You should get dressed too," she gave him a nod, and he sighed inwardly in relief.

"Why is everyone all nice and neat?" Ron frowned, flopping down onto the bed—instantly wrinkling his robes.

"It's your birthday," Ginny said exasperated, "can't we be decent?"

"You were decent before," the redhead muttered confusedly, and Ginny wasted no time in hauling Draco out of the room.

"When you think about it," she closed the door, and chuckled, "he's really stupid, isn't he?"

Instead of commenting, Draco studied her face. She looked a bit... anxious, and he knew something was off. Sure she enjoyed bugging the life out of him, but she'd never actually stayed with him when they were alone.

"Why aren't you with Granger?" he questioned harshly, and she blushed crimson.

"I don't see how that—" she started, but Draco interrupted.

"I'm not thick Weaslette," he bit, "what did you do?"

"We had a fight," she confessed, talking fast and almost incomprehensible, "she was angry at you this morning and she said some really bad stuff so I defended you because I really don't think it should matter that you're you because if Ron's happy it's all that—"

He raised a hand to cut her off, effectively stopping the word vomit. Her face got a tad redder, and she bowed her head in shame.

"Don't fight with Granger because of me," he said simply and Ginny groaned.

"It's not because of you, you twat!" she scoffed as they entered Draco's bedroom, "it's about Ron's happiness! He's my brother and if you make him happy so be it—she's his friend and can't even see that!"

"Isn't she like... your best friend?" Draco drew open the doors of his wardrobe, and he heard Ginny sigh.

"Draco, seriously," Ginny sounded a bit scornful and the blonde sent her a curious glance, "you're about to meet our nana—Ron loves grandma—you've got more important things to worry about than me and Hermione fighting."

Draco laughed, taking his robes and laying them out on the bed. Ginny watched him from across the room, sitting down and smoothing imaginary wrinkles in her dress. The robes were a dark emerald, matching his pale skin and hair. He started undoing the laces of his sweats, when he suddenly stopped—rounding on the redhead—she blushed as he caught her staring at his boxer short clad bum.

"Do you mind?" he glared, and she scraped her throat.

"Sorry," she tucked her feet onto the fauteuil, faced the back of it and started tugging at the thick fabric.

Draco rolled his eyes but let it drop, and, convinced that she wouldn't look again, he continued undressing. He secured the dark emerald pants with a belt, after tucking in his white shirt, hiding his father's key underneath it. Then he fit the white tie and folded the collar over it. Before buttoning up his waistcoat—the same colour of his trousers—he did his laces. As last he slid into the outer robes, fixing the sleeves.

"You look gorgeous!" he was surprised at the voice, a small gasp sounding through, and faced the redhead—her eyes wide as saucers.

"What did I tell you about looking?" he snarled, insulted—he didn't like being half naked in a room with anyone, except maybe _Ronald_.

"I only just turned," her face flushed again, and she got up from the chair, changing the subject: "we should be going down. Mum'll come get Ron soon."

Draco nodded. He followed her, after he quickly picked up a neatly-wrapped present from his desk. Carefully he pocketed it in his robes. Ginny grinned when she noticed the move, and she started teasing him.

"Oh, you got inky bitty Ronnykins a present!" she cooed, and Draco wanted to strangle her but refrained.

"Don't even think about it Weaslette," he growled defensively, patting the present in his pocket, "I'm not giving it to him anyway—it's just in case!"

"So what is it?" she skipped around him in circles quite pleased with herself and her immaculate talent of noticing every small detail about the blonde.

"It's a leather bracelet I got in Havana," Draco felt his cheeks heat up and Ginny suddenly stopped still.

She stayed a step behind, deep in thought, before jogging and catching up with the blonde again.

"But... didn't Blaise say..." she tried to lock eyes, but Draco refused, "Zabini said that those souvenirs were..." suddenly, instead of continuing to explain what Blaise had told her, _what the hell did the wanker do_, she gave a high-pitched squeal—Draco was tempted to cover his ears, but, always remembering that he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not display trivial emotion, he managed not to even show his surprise, "that's adorable!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," his aristocratic features rumpled into a frown, and he tipped up his nose.

"Oh please! You know exactly what I'm talking about! The souvenirs are for the love of your life!" she grinned maniacally, "how cute Draco!"

"What's cute?" Pothead appeared from around the corner, in his dressrobes as well—they were pitch black.

"Oh, it's nothing," Ginny's smirk was still on, and she wrapped an arm around Harry's neck, then around Draco's, pulling the boys close to her, "let's go! You're off to meet the Weasleys! Exited?"

"Thrilled," Draco droned, voice drowned with sarcasm, "Weaslette, if you do not let go of me right now, I will hurt you. Very badly."

"Right..." she unwrapped her arm from around his neck, but her face was still twisted up into an insufferable smirk, "just remember to at least pretend to be charming Draco," she winked, "nana's gotta like you. But you're gonna have to try."

"I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not to get some old hag to like me," he spit, and they went down the stairs together, "she'll have to take me just as I am and—"

They were interrupted when the 'old hag' came up and hugged her granddaughter again.

"Ginevra, sweetheart," she smiled broadly, "introduce me to these two young fellas."

"Draco Malfoy," as if on cue, Draco smiled politely, extending his hand—and he had Ginny biting her fist to keep from laughing, but _fuck her, maybe it would be wise to be nice to the grandma._

"Malfoy," the woman wrinkled her nose, as if trying to remember where she'd heard his name before, "ah, I read about you in the newspaper, didn't I," she shook his hand, holding it firmly, "the strapping young lad that's taking over his father's business!"

"I don't know about that yet madam," he apologised, wishing she would let go of his hand, "it's too early to decide."

"Ah yes, of course," her look contradicted her words, as if now that he wasn't sure whether to follow in his father's footsteps—taking over his job at the ministry—he wasn't interesting anymore.

"Draco has just lost his parents nana," Ginny tried, giving her grandmother's arm a squeeze, "I'm sure he's planning on following in his father's footsteps when he's finished school, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course," he coughed, _stupid bitch, she doesn't even know what my father did,_ "actually, professor Dumbledore wants me to spend a day there, seeing if I'd be fit for it or not."

And that wasn't even a lie—the old man had told him from the beginning that the ministry thought Draco was the only one that could fill in his father's position. Draco just wasn't sure whether he wanted it or not.

"Ah Draco, there you are," Molly suddenly appeared by Arthur's mother's side, "Sirius is looking for you love, come with me."

And she dragged Draco off, before he could say another word. When they were well out of range, she whispered: "I'm so sorry about that—did she corner you? I hope she wasn't too rude?"

"It's fine," Draco chuckled at Molly's distress, and she kept glancing around as if someone might hear, her shoulders clenching, "I'm sure she's usually very... nice."

"Oh please," Molly rolled her eyes, "mother Weasley is not one who warms up on you Draco. A fair warning, stay far away from her!"

"Will do," he laughed again, and they parted ways—Draco deciding that looking for Sirius would be a very smart thing to do right about then, as Molly went back to the kitchen.

--

"Wauw, isn't this nice," Bill whistled approvingly as they stumbled upon a grand ballroom—polished wooden floors, white marble walls, crystal chandeliers—a nice sight to behold.

There was music playing, coming from the gramophone in the corner of the room, set up for later. The music was audible through the entire house, but was loudest yhere, where it bounced off the walls and reverberated.

"Never knew Sirius had such a thing in his house," Charlie indicated the room, as his brother let a finger go over the silver lining in the walls, his hips swaying in time with the music.

"The Blacks were famous for their parties," Draco said—admitted, this was without doubt the nicest room in the whole entire house, which was probably why Sirius kept the door locked all the time.

There was a single, old-fashion chaise lounge chair, overlooking the room. It was made of dark green wood and white cushions, a small table next to it with a single glass on it. The glass had a long graceful neck, and a green ribbon was wrapped around it. It caught Draco's attention immediately, and when he inspected the ribbon, touching it, even though a small layer of dust covered it, there were black letters on it. The letters said 'R. A. B.' and Draco let go of it, realising that they were not supposed to be there.

"Do Malfoys dance?" the question was teasing, and Draco turned on his heel—the ribbon forgotten—to glare at the preposterous accusation.

"Of course Malfoys dance," he stepped closer to the mocking redheads, hands on his hips, "we've danced for centuries—and much better than any Weasley!"

"So Malfoys waltz," Bill chuckled, as if the ability to waltz meant nothing at all.

"You tango?"

"Do you _dance_," Bill queried, "like...dance dance. None of the hand-on-the-hip-and-let's-be-sophisticated crap."

"That 'sophisticated crap'," Draco bit, "happens to be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he remembered all the times his father had asked his mother's hand—dancing was the only time they didn't fight—and he'd simply sat back and watched. All the pictures he had of his father asking the hand of an invisible man, and dancing like there was no tomorrow, by himself, in a half-dark room. He remembered the first time his father had asked his hand, and swallowed thickly at the memory, being allowed to waltz with his father was one of the greatest honours he'd ever received, "it used to be tradition to only perform that 'sophisticated crap' with the love of your life," he saw their smirks, and realised how clueless they really were, "but yes, I do dance, dance."

"Nonsense," Charlie smirked at his brother, and Draco knew they were up to something, "you don't even know how to sway your hips!"

"I do too," Draco scowled and started making small circles to the beat of the music, moving his waist about sensually, "I've been to plenty of clubs with Blaise."

"Tell me then," Bill came closer to the blonde, still moving to the music himself, "is that how gay boys dance?"

"I'm sure you can do better," Charlie challenged—and Draco, not even pissed off at the fact that Bill knew Blaise only took him to gay clubs, fell for it, and tried to remember how he danced when with Blaise.

_Hands on the other's hips,_ Draco could almost hear Blaise say it, _fuck-me look on the face,_ but perhaps it would be better if he let that one pass, _and move like you're up to no good._

He figured he was doing okay when the brothers stopped their teasing—as it was, he'd chosen to close his eyes, focussing on blowing their minds—_stupid bastards, waltzing my father taught me, but dancing, I learned from the gayest boy around_.

He was scared witless when suddenly two pairs of hands grabbed his hips and the redheads yelled: "Draco-sandwich!" loud and high-pitched.

They squished him between their bodies and Draco broke out into a fit of giggles as the brothers continued to attack his sides with tickles while trying to get him to dance with both of them at the same time.

"You fucking morons," Draco managed to spit, but he allowed them to dance him to the centre of the room, "can you not behave for five seconds?"

He faced Charlie and saw him give Bill a wink as they both grabbed a hold of his hand at the same time. He felt Bill's other hand on his hip, and Charlie took his other to place it on his shoulder—like that they began a slow waltz, the three of them.

"This is insane," Draco glared at the brother he could see, "we can't dance like this—let me go!"

"Listen, Draco," Bill said from behind him, and Draco knew he should feel uncomfortable—but he knew they had a motive, as they weren't trying to grind against him, and had stopped their teasing—they stayed at a respectable distance, and he really had no proper reason to argue, "when a boy turns seventeen, it's tradition to dance."

"They dance with their loved ones," Charlie continued, and Draco nodded—of course he knew of the ridiculous tradition, "with us, it's always been so that the birthday boy in question dances with a relative, since we haven't had much girlfriends attend family celebrations."

"Harry is planning on asking Ron to dance with Hermione," Bill said, a sad tone to his voice, "there's a very good chance that he'll be doing exactly that."

"You deserve a dance," Charlie smiled, but it was kind of sad, and Draco bit his lip because sometimes, he _really_ hated Ron.

"So if he doesn't ask you to dance," Bill ended, "don't be sad, because you got your dance now."

Draco was sure that being nice was a typical Weasley feat, but still—the brothers were by far too kind for him, and he hadn't done anything to deserve this sweet treatment—they made it look far too easy, definitely when they both bent forward, and kissed a cheek each.

--

He spent the rest of the time by Bill and Charlie's side—they knew everyone there, and were polite enough to introduce him, adding in some nice words to make sure no one ended up hating his guts. This plan went alright, Draco supposed—every Weasley loved the older brothers, and if you were a friend of theirs, you were liked no matter what—it was just too bad it wouldn't work on the oldest Weasley of them all. Nana was just too old and stubborn to like anyone, simply because her grandchildren did. This didn't count for Ron though, according the Charlie, since he was by far grandma Weasley's favourite. She sent him extra boxes of chocolate for Christmas, whenever she came to visit she demanded to be seated next to him, and they enjoyed taking long strolls in the garden together. If only she knew Ron was madly in love with Draco, there'd be no problem whatsoever.

As it was, she sent the blonde curious glances wherever he went, and she sensed immediately that Ronnykins' best friends—Pothead and Granger—didn't sit very well with him, which of course caused her to be cautious of him. If Ron's best friends didn't like him, it probably went the same for him, so she chose to stare at him from across the room, rather than seek him out for conversation and make up her own mind. All the other Weasleys adored him though—he'd decided that if he couldn't win the grandma over, he should go for all the rest—even though he hadn't actually talked to all of them. He had been flirted with by almost every single cousin, his ass had been pinched by all the aunts and he had received quite a few indecent looks from one of the older, senile uncles—and now, that wasn't a boost for his ego at all, but if it would make Ron love him more, he would cope.

The cousins and aunts were the main reason he stayed with Bill and Charlie, really. All the females seemed to be dying to get a bit of attention from someone who didn't have red hair and freckles, and since Remus and Sirius had found themselves a nice cupboard, the brothers were the only place Draco felt safe. Harry and Hermione were constantly talking amongst themselves, and for once, it appeared that Harry's last name had no catch whatsoever. The Weasleys found Draco far more interesting than the raven, or at least, more handsome.

They waited for Ron to arrive, but he wasn't allowed to come down before Molly had finished on decorating the garden, where they'd have cake before retreating into the ballroom, since Ron would have his first dance into adulthood there. Draco had always found it slightly unnecessary, and now that he was surrounded by only Ron's family, it seemed even more so. What did Ronald's ability to dance with one of his female relatives attribute to his adult life? Now of course, he could chose Granger to dance, _which he probably will, as Bill and Charlie were so polite to point out_, but Draco actually rather not think about what that meant—or what Ron's family would think that meant.

When Ron finally arrived it was all a big fuss of 'happy birthday Ron!' and people coming up to hug him. He honestly looked surprised enough, and Draco chuckled at the idea that the redhead really hadn't had a clue as to what was going on. He had a good time, all things considered, and they all ate cake outside, in the sun—the temperature rising as the day wore off. The redhead spent his time thanking all his relatives for being there, and hugging them all to death—talking to most of those he hadn't seen in a while as well—and when he ate cake it was rather endearing to watch him try to chew without spilling all over his robes while talking. Draco thought that, _this is one of the things I should find repulsive_, but when it came to Ron, somehow, _it doesn't seem to matter_.

Everything passed in a surreal kind of haze, and Draco never imagined spending time with the Weasleys would be so _okay_. But when they were making their way back into the house again, it suddenly struck him that Ron was supposed to be dancing soon. He tried laughing at the idea of Ron dancing, knowing how utterly ungraceful the man was, but somehow he couldn't. When his eyes found the redhead, he was talking to his best friend, and Draco could make out words such as 'Hermione' and 'wants to' and 'dance'. It may or may not have been the whole sentence—it was irrelevant—but then their eyes locked, and Draco knew he couldn't just walk away. He gave Ron a small smile, before averting his eyes, and he _tried_ to be okay with the whole thing, but really, he didn't want to see his lover dance with stupid Granger—or _anyone_, for that matter.

The entire crowd moved into the ballroom, and they formed a large circle around their sibling—the vibe had changed completely—everyone was grinning and winking at Ron, as he was pushed forward into the circle. The music was already playing, and Draco recognised it—and old muggle track, a man singing about dancing someone with a burning violin—Leonard Cohen. Harry leaned forward to whisper something in the redhead's ear, and he gave a clear point to Hermione, who began blushing, and stood not so far away from Draco.

"Come on lil' brother," Bill called—and Draco wanted to punch him in the face, _what the hell am I doing here?_ "Dance!"

"Yeah, go on Ron," Harry backed the brother up, giving his best friend a wink, and Hermione another nod, "choose anyone you want!"

Ron chortled and slowly began moving, walking around to study the faces of his relatives, deciding who to pick. All his cousins were battering their lashes, revelling at a chance to dance with him—they all loved Ron to pieces, and he was a fairly good dancer.

"Anyone I want, yeah?" the redhead teased, and the crowd howled in anticipation—Molly was close to tears, muttering about being '_oh-so-proud_'.

"Go on mate!" Harry cried again, and when Draco looked up, Granger was blushing and smiling, and Ron was looking far too confident to his liking.

He stared at the tiled floor as the redhead came closer to Granger—_stupid wanker,_ he could at least _pretend_ to be a little displeased. He could not believe he was about to witness the celebration of his lover, while the man danced into his new life with stupid bushy-brows. They could be upstairs, doing all sorts of fun things to celebrate the boy's birthday—all to a certain extend related to the both of them naked, and all having absolutely nothing to do with Granger—but instead he was stuck here, feigning politeness. He was going to have to look up sooner or later, and when he did that stupid brunette would be looking all smug and...

His fuming stopped abruptly when he saw two rather Ron-like feet entering his line of vision. _Now what the hell..._

The blonde raised his head, lifting his gaze, preparing himself for everything—_anything_—except for the sight his eyes fell upon. Ron, looking gorgeous in his robes, a small smile in the corner of his lips and looking ridiculously proud of himself. Ron, offering his hand to Draco. Offering his hand _to me?_ When their eyes locked, Ron's were twinkling mischievously, and he spoke—the sounds bouncing off the walls and interlinking with the man singing of dancing him somewhere—loud and clear, making sure everyone would hear his next words: "will you do me the honours love?"

...and it made Draco's heart want to melt. If he was any lesser man he would have swooned openly and snogged the boy right then and there—as it was he was a Malfoy, and took much dignity in slowly taking the tanned hand—much to the dismay of the crowd, as they gasped and spluttered in protest. Ron guided the smaller hand to his own shoulder, placing his free one on the tapered waist, where it belonged.

Draco could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck rise at the feel of his finger drawing circles on the boy's shoulder, and he closed his eyes briefly, taking his time to enjoy the moment.

He was pulled out of his trance, quite literally, when Ron tugged him into his chest. Draco opened his eyes to glare, but all the other did was grin smugly.

"We _are_ supposed to be dancing love," he explained, and this earned him a chuckle from the crowd.

"I know," Draco said defensively, and then without further ado, allowed Ron to take his other hand, and slowly guide him into the centre of the room.

Draco soon learned that dancing with Ron, wasn't like anything else _with Ron_ he'd done before. It wasn't like sex—and not even because of the not-naked part—as their chests were inches away from touching, and all Draco could really feel was the light pressure of a hand on his hip, and the other in his own. It definitely wasn't like all the fights they ever had, because they're faces were too close and they weren't trying to harm each other—they weren't shouting either—and this dance world was peculiarly silent. So silent even, Draco couldn't help but notice every time their legs brushed or Ron's fingers tightened.

They danced slowly to the music, words of beauty without witnesses, and all that mattered was that their eyes stayed locked. Ron's hand was secure on his hip and it strengthened its hold when the man sang of Babylon, bringing him just that small bit closer, but remaining a certain distance from each other—civil and like any two other wizards would—but that didn't last too long. Ron made it clear that he didn't want to show his family that he was a refined wizard, who could dance just as civil as any two others would, and he did so by shifting his hand slightly. It slid over the expensive fabric of Draco's robe, from his hip to his lower back, settling there snugly so he could force the delicate frame against his own. Ron's smile was so sweet, Draco couldn't help but not protest, and kiss the boy's cheek instead.

Draco was very positive that he could feel all off Ron's curves clicking with his own, and the heavy robes were a bit annoying, as they sheltered Ron's body from Draco's own. Their hips moved slowly together, swinging with the beat and they danced without paying any attention to their surroundings. Their eyes remained locked and the music guided them over the floor—and Draco figured that one day, he must have done something right to deserve this, because Ron's eyes held nothing but the deepest affection for him.

As the man ceased his singing and the music continued to play, the redhead's hand slipped forward to Draco's belly, and undid a single button on his outer robes, so it could slide into the confines and under the white shirt to find the pale back again, skin on skin and a shiver racked Draco's frame—quite clearly—as Ron drew his fingers along to rest casually on the waistband of his pants. Draco was very much aware of how Ron wasn't even trying to keep the touch hidden, and he was sure everyone could see where his hand rested—but when Ron swiped the thumb of his other hand over Draco's forehead, pushing a lost lock of hair from his face, before the hand grasped Draco's again, it was forgotten—and he allowed himself to sink into the feeling of being close to him.

"You know," Ron began fake-pensively, and it was a murmur but he was sure the nearby relatives could hear it anyway, "you could try holding me."

Draco scowled, but, _fine if he can be bold, so can I_—his hand moved down to the broad chest, and he agilely undid two buttons, then went on with the dress shirt—until he could go in and grab his lover's bare shoulder. He heard Ron's hoarse chuckle, and the boy brought his head closer to Draco's, so the blonde could lean into his shoulder. He was shocked when Ron started singing into his ear suddenly—the romanticism of the moment getting the best of him—and his voice was low and gruff, turning the beautiful words in thick sex when they reached Draco. They sounded so sexy when Ron sang them to him, and it had him clamping on almost desperately, though their feet never stopped moving and their waists never stopped swaying.

"Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long," Draco hummed softly to show his approval, letting his fingers move on their own accord, "we're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above," their fingers interlinked, _movingmovingmoving,_ "dance me, to the end of love."

He gave the skin under Draco's ear a soft peck, and their eyes met sideways. It was ridiculously sappy and stupid, but they were both smiling.

"Don't stop," Draco whispered, and Ron paused a moment—their bodies stilling for the briefest of seconds—before continuing.

"Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn," Draco slid his hand down the soft skin of Ron's shoulder, and forward to rest on his stomach instead—it was warm and comfy there, "raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn," Draco could feel Ron's thumb draw a heart on his back, and it gave him goosebumps all over, "dance me, to the end of love."

The man stopped singing and Ron took that time to carefully map the side of Draco's head with kisses. It was giddy and _so fucking sweet_—but Ron deserved sweet, so if he wanted it, who was Draco to deny him? They made a weird twirl sort of thing, and Draco chuckled out loud, grasping onto the flaps of Ron's shirt to keep him close, their waists still moving to the beat. They slowed down again, and the redhead pulled back slightly, so he could see his lover's face. Draco's eyes were shining with mirth—thrilled to see he'd made his blonde happy, he rubbed their noses together—their lips so close to touching, but failing.

He murmured the last words against Draco's pale lips, nuzzling his nose all the while.

"Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin," he sang softly—and Draco could feel the words against his lips—in fact, he really just wanted to bend down and kiss the smaller boy, but he refrained, "dance me through the panic, till I'm gathered safely in," their bodies seemed pasted together and Draco rubbed his nose against Ron's, bringing his lips impossibly close, "touch me with your naked hand, touch me with your glove," they let go of each other's hands, and instead, Draco brought his up to cup the back of the redhead's neck, and his lover mimicked the move, "dance me, to the end of love."

Ron stopped his teasing, and brought his lips down upon Draco's—to the blonde it seemed as if they'd been building up to this moment the entire time, as if it was meant to all come down to this exact second where it didn't matter that he was a Malfoy and they virtually opposed everything the Weasleys stood for, because they could be in love and be together if they wanted to, and he moaned into his lover's mouth—pulling him infinitely closer as he let himself go completely, cherishing the intimate embrace.

The Weasleys went wild, clapping and yelling at the couple—but they were too far gone to care, and all that seemed to matter was that their lips stayed locked. Draco moaned again when he felt the redhead's tongue slide against the roof of his mouth, and he felt Ron grind against him. They kissed and kissed and kissed, until eventually, they parted, completely out of breath—Draco bit his lip and swallowed harshly, Ron's eyes hazy as he gave the blonde a last peck—before his family totally crushed the both of them. Suddenly there were Weasleys everywhere, and Draco was being hugged and was receiving slaps against his back—even squeezes in his arse—as multiple voices exclaimed that 'it's okay' and that 'we'd never known you swung that way' and 'you caught a good one Ronny'.

Draco panicked slightly, not used to being overrun and hugged to death by dozens of redheads—but Ron's hand found his, and he knew it was _alright_.

--

"I think we've waited long enough," Ron stated, and Draco blinked dumbly.

They were on the old swing in the backyard, watching the small kids run around—sometimes a little boy, Jamy would come up and insist Ron play with them, and he'd spend some time playing tag, before coming back, out of breath—with some cake in their laps, resting against the pillows comfortably. Draco thought they deserved it, after being hugged by all the redheads, and having to sit through lectures of how it was 'okay to be gay!' and that they didn't have to be ashamed of their love. The only Weasley that hadn't tried to lecture them, one way or another, was grandma, who had retired to her room for a nap—since she would be staying for the weekend. Draco hadn't seen Pothead since he'd urged Ron to dance with Granger, and he was glad the boy hadn't come up to pick a fight.

Ron stretched, and Draco watched him shamelessly—he had taken his outer robes off, because it really was too hot to stay in them and sit outside at the same time, even though the sun had long gone—giving an appreciative nod. The redhead chuckled when he saw the piercing look his lover was giving him, and took his hand, pulling him to his feet.

"Come on," Ron smiled, "I'm sure it'll be okay now."

"I don't understand," Draco frowned, but followed him nonetheless, back inside.

"We've giving him enough time to fume," Ron's look stated that that explained everything, _but it doesn't._

"Where are we going?" Draco pressed, determent to get a straight answer from the boy.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed, mildly frustrated at Draco's lack of understanding.

Draco, even though still not sure what was going on, did not like the sound of that.

**AN: I know that when Ron sings, he missed the first sentence of the strophes. It's because he needed some time to remember the lyrics and dropped in like that ^^ sorry if that was... confusing. They dance for about a page... it seems... not long enough, somehow :s**

**If I got it straight... dressrobes are suit, with robes instead of a jacket?**

**Daniël says there is no way in hell that you survive in a gay club if you don't know how to shake da booty. Except if you're pretty damn sexy. He also says it doesn't really matter, because if you can fuck, you can sure as hell dance.**

**I agree with Dan. I've been to many gay clubs and well... the pretty boys do dance ^^**

**(this is in no way supposed to be a homophobic AN—it's just me being me, sorry if I offended anyone)**

**In the 'original' chapter there was a longer piece with one of Ron's cousins, Jamy, but I changed that... I might use it later on though ^^ I also am very aware that I messed their birthdays up, but I couldn't give a damn, even if I tried.**

**PS: I'm starting on chapter 18 as we speak (as I write, I meant) so bow for meh biatch ! Yeah… sorry 'bout that…**

**WARNING: I will be in Japan for little while ^^ so you better review like crazy, cause, no reviewies ? No updaties when I get back ! REVIEW ME CRAZY ! Will bring pockey for everyone who does...  
**


	16. Failure and Success

16. Failure and Success

**AN: Harry has a breakdown, Ron has a breakdown, Draco has a breakdown, let's all have a breakdown ! I've noticed I'm beginning to call Draco 'baby' more often – or well, I let Ron call Draco 'baby' – but somehow, when he's in distress, he always calls him 'love' or something equally cute. Well. I think 'baby' is sexy… I just noticed, and decided to share ! Jay me !**

**I based nana on meh own nana ^^ But I've got to warn you, my nana is straight-forward, knows no shame and shall question whichever lover we chose to take – I just made nana-Weasley a bit more feisty, which is saying a lot, cause my nana's the feistiest one around !**

"Ron... I would really like to press the fact that this is not a good idea," Draco cautiously turned his head to peek inside the hallway, _if Granger's here, it will not be good._

"Drake, if we don't go now it'll be worse," Ron pulled him towards the bedroom he shared with Harry, "I know him—he holds grudges."

"Oh really?" Draco mocked, "I never would've guessed."

"Drake," Ron scolded, sending him a warning glare, "could you try to be nice? Even just a little?"

Instead of replying Draco gave him a blank stare, pursing his lips slightly, and Ron rolled his eyes, pulling him to the room. When he knocked and got no answer—Draco insisting that perhaps Harry was sleeping and they should leave him alone—he opened the door anyways, entering the room. Draco followed begrudgingly, but only because otherwise Ron would deny him sex, and _that's a lie and you know it_.

"Harry?" Ron got an immediate reply in the form of an antique vase being thrown at his head.

"BUGGER OFF!" Harry shrieked, and the redhead just managed to duck before the article collided with the wall.

"What the hell are you playin' at!" Draco swiftly pushed his lover behind his back, hiding him from the angry raven in front of them—Harry's eyes were wide and he looked like he could start foaming from his mouth in rage any minute now.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE!" he grabbed a pillow and flung it at a nearby wall, trying to release some of the anger he felt.

"Moral support," Draco bit, and Ron came out from hiding, securely locking his hand in Draco's—_he looks scared, _and maybe a pissed-off Harry was a very bad thing indeed.

"We just want to talk to you mate," Ron pressed, and Harry fell to the bed, exasperated, "can we sit?"

"NO, you cannot," he glared at them, crossing his arms defiantly, "he's a stupid little prat, and you choose him—out of all the stupid little prats on earth! How dare you!"

Draco glared at the raven, but Ron soothed his lover by giving his hand a squeeze.

"You don't know him," Ron insisted, "he's likeable!"

The blonde's face dropped at the other's words, and he felt a distinct urge to punch him.

"He's... a he!" Harry glowered, "and a Malfoy!"

"You didn't care when it were Remus and Sirius!" Ron said defensively, and Draco was sure they were going to lose this one, if that was all Ron could come up with.

"I actually saw that one coming!" Harry sat up straight, "he's a stupid Malfoy git and he's just so... so..."

Words did not exist. Draco's eyes narrowed, _second time he insults my family,_ and he glared Pothead to death, the boy meeting his stare dead on.

"I'm so _what_?" he queried, tauntingly, and Ron tried to calm him, _but squeezing my hand won't work freckles_, "tell me? What? What am I? Because at least I'm here, and at least I'm trying!" Harry seemed to slump slightly at the words, and it definitely wasn't what he'd expected—not even Ron, who'd thought Draco was going to spit fire—but _Malfoys reason like the best_, "so what am I? You can tell me, I honestly don't care! What is it that I'm doing that does not prove my love for him?" Ron stilled and Harry seemed to hold his breath—this fuming Malfoy was different from all the other fuming Malfoys he'd seen before, and his cold demeanour, his steady words, were a surprise, "tell me, because at least I'm giving you the chance to—instead of catapulting vases at your head!"

"I don't care how many times you say you love him," Harry said, and he bent his head, as if embarrassed at his own words, "saying it doesn't make it true. This is just one of those sick ways for you to hurt me, but I won't let you."

"Are you daft?" Draco grunted, and Ron seemed to get paler with the second, "If I wanted to hurt you, I would've fucked you and not returned your calls! The whole world does not evolve around you Potter!"

"Then stop messing with my life Malfoy!"

"I'm not messing with yours," the blonde spat, and _please, say something, don't leave me here alone,_ "I'm trying to fix my own—why the hell is it so hard for you to believe that Ronald makes me happy!"

"Ron! Tell him!" Harry focussed on his redhead friend, giving Draco a vicious point, _please, help me,_ "tell him you're just having a laugh! Do you think it's funny to mess with me like that? You let me give you that stupid speech about how you should go for Hermione—and then you're fucking Malfoy? You really expect me to believe that!"

By the time that Harry had finished, Ron's face was as white as plaster, his freckles standing out peculiarly. He didn't say anything, but wrapped a secure arm around the blonde's waist, pulling him to his body.

"I let you rant," he started, and his voice shook so much they had to strain to understand him, "I let you insult him because I figured, he's just angry, let him and he'll at least be reasonable. I don't care anymore Harry," Ron shook his head in disbelief, "you're supposed to be my best friend. The least you could do is not insult the person I love. You could at least _pretend_ to be happy for me. But even that is too much. I was there to help you when you thought Snape was stealing the philosopher stone," Harry paled as well, and if it hadn't been so serious, it would have been funny to watch them go white as stone, "I helped you find out that Malfoy wasn't the heir of Slytherin and I was there by your side when everyone claimed it was you. I never let you down when it really mattered, and all I ask of you is this," he held Draco tighter, and it was clear what he meant—Draco could see hurt on his face and _I really want to kiss it better for you,_ "and you won't let me have it. Fuck off Harry, because you're so not worth it."

Before Harry could even open his mouth to reply, Ron had already slammed the door behind him, taking his leave. Draco stood there, somewhat surprised, before realising, _help him stupid sod!_ And he followed the redhead.

"Ronald," when Draco caught up him he was already in the bathroom, working out his anger on everything that didn't move—which was a lot.

He slammed his fists into the wall, kicked against the towel rack, threw all the facial products out of the cabinet and had a fight with the ceramic sink. Eventually, as his own image was to feel the end of his wrath, his hand collided with the mirror, breaking it—a dark growl mixed with the sound of crushed glass, and Draco bit his lip.

"Reparo," he murmured. Ron held his hurt hand with his other, and his anger seemed to evaporate in thin air, "could you try being not stupid for five seconds please?" he glared, but only because _I don't want you hurt,_ "Give me that."

Draco took Ron's hand and watched his ears burn red, an obvious sign that he was still angry. The cut was pretty shallow, but it bled a lot, red streaming over his wrist in a steady flow. The blonde reached for a towel and patted the cut carefully, as Ron raged on.

"Did you hear him in there?" he demanded angrily, not waiting for an answer, "I cannot believe him! He's such a stupid moron! And—"

"Hitting things is not going to help," Draco tugged his hand closer—Ron refused to keep quiet for a second—since it was very hard to clean the wound, "keep still, will you?"

"Merlin," he cried out, infuriated, "I just wanna go back there and give 'em a good beating!"

Draco stopped trying to reason with his lover, instead focusing on the cut. When he had managed to wash the blood away, Ron still spilling profanities around, he found a disinfectant and cleaned it properly. As he wrapped his own handkerchief around the cut, tying it securely, he noticed that Ron had stopped swearing a while ago. Raising his head, his eyes locked with Ron's—glittering with unshed tears, his look absolute agony to watch—realising that Ron perhaps, was not as angry as he'd seemed.

"Ron..." he tried to sound sympathetic, but he had no idea how to comfort people—he'd never felt so weak in his life, because Ron was right there, so close to breaking down—and he didn't know what he could possibly say to make it better.

When the first, fat tear rolled down Ron's cheek, Draco cupped it with his palm, and slowly rubbed it away. When the second and the third spilled without relent, he pressed Ron's head into his own shoulder, immediately feeling the strong arms wrap around him—not to offer comfort, but to ask for some in exchange—and he thought that maybe Ron didn't need words, perhaps he could just hold him and chase the pain away.

He felt Ron's sobs rack his frame, saw it too, the shiver of his spine, and brought his other hand to the boy's back, rubbing—_hopefully_—comforting circles. The noise that accompanied his tears was heartbreaking, and Draco really wanted to start crying himself because, _why can't I fix this?_

Sometimes he really wished 'reparo' worked on people too.

"Ron," he kissed the top of the red hair, talking silently, "if you want I'll take you to bed—would you like to rest for a bit?"

He had no idea how you were supposed _to be nice to someone. How do you comfort someone who's hurt? How do you show them you care?_ And he was sure asking them if they wanted to sleep wasn't the best thing to do, but Ron nodded anyway. He led him back to the bedroom awkwardly, stumbling the entire way because _I really don't want to let go_. Inside the room Ron shook him off with an unhappy grunt, and crawled into bed, shoes and tie still on.

Draco sighed inwardly, but he understood—he remembered how he didn't even let Ron touch him at first—and couldn't blame him. Taking off his outer robes, he felt the package he'd pocketed earlier, and took it from its confines, before hanging the robes on the back of a chair. He kicked off his own shoes, getting on the bed himself. Ron was still sobbing silently, and his cheeks were blotted with red and white. Making sure not to alarm him, Draco lay down, biting his lips as he pressed his chest against Ron's back. He felt the boy flinch at the touch, and for a second he thought Ron was going to push him off—then the redhead took his arm and wrapped it around his own form—whispering: "hold me?"

He squeezed the broad body into his own, smaller chest, and let the rectangular box fall onto the redhead's pillow. He saw the brown eyes blink, the laces spotted with tiny tears, marring his cheeks.

"You got me a present?" he sniffled cutely, ripping apart the small layer of coloured paper—pausing briefly to read the small tag saying: _'To Ronald,'_ in graceful silver letter—to reveal the parcel. He sniffed again, whipping at his tears with the back of his clothed hand, before undoing the lid, and gasping at its contents—the leather band was decorated with earth-coloured pearls and dark brown linings, forming ancient signs of long-forgotten wisdom—even though it was _just_ a leather band, it was special to Ron, because it'd been given by Draco, "thank you," he muttered softly, turning his head to grant him a sweat kiss. He focussed on the band, and tried lacing it around his wrist, "help me?"

In answer he grasped Ron's hurt hand, brought it to his lips to kiss where the handkerchief covered the wound, tied the leather band around his freckled wrist, and held him closer, _because as much as you need me, that's how much I really don't want to let go._

--

When Draco awoke, his eyes immediately met with Ron's—the brown boring into his own grey with such intensity, Draco was slightly taken aback. His first thought was that perhaps there was something wrong—but it was just the two of them, his arms resting easily around the other's hips—and then he figured he probably got dirt on his face during the night.

"Is there something on my face?" he asked, rubbing his cheek to get any probable stain off.

Ron shook his head, his hair all tangled up, and his collar rumpled. He looked alert, even though he couldn't have been up for too long.

"Will you have breakfast with me?" he asked, voice broken, and Draco bit his lip at the sound of it, _so hurt and beautiful._

"Of course," he could almost feel tears welling up in his own eyes, _because he sounds so fucking heartbroken and I never wanted this for him,_ "Ronald I..."

"I can't go down like this though," he pretended not to hear Draco, and _it's because he knows what I meant anyway, _and gave a smile, "my mum'll kill me if she finds out I slept in my new dressrobes."

"It's okay," Draco got up from the bed, his own clothes rumpled, "I have sweats you can wear."

Going through his closet, he soon found a pair of black pants that would surely fit Ron, and tossed them onto the bed. He threw his shirt and waistcoat in the hamper, and was just undoing his pants when arms slid around his chest—absentmindedly sliding down the key that hung around the blonde's neck—and he was pulled into Ron. He felt the boy's lips against his shoulder, and smirked, knowing exactly what he wanted.

"Thank you," a soft murmur came, _what for? For being nice to your family? For being there when you tried to reason with Harry?_ "For fixing my hand."

"Hmm," he hummed pleasantly when Ron kissed down his neck, to his back, "I see it's all better."

"Oh yes," he turned and licked Draco's bellybutton, making the blonde purr, "much better."

"Ron..." Draco bit his lip to stop a moan, Ron sucking at his hipbone harshly, leaving a big purple mark, "I thought you were hungry?"

"Yeah," his tongue darted out to touch Draco's pale skin again, and Draco weaved his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly, "but only you will suffice."

--

When they made their way downstairs, it was still early, and they'd redressed properly. Draco had given Ron a shirt to go with the sweats, and he'd found a pyjama for himself, squared green and blue shorts and shirt. Ron's hand was placed on his lower back, under the shirt which caused it to crawl up slightly, but with Ron's head against his shoulder, he really didn't care.

They entered the kitchen for breakfast, greeted by Ginny, the twins and the older brothers—Pothead and Granger didn't even as much as look up—and sat down. Draco went to sit next to Ron, but he should have known better, the redhead always rather cuddly, post orgasm, and he was pulled into Ron's lap instead, a small smirk on the other boy's lips.

"Mmm, birthday cake," Ron smacked his lips happily as he caught sight of the leftovers, immediately scooping some cake onto a plate.

"One day," Ginny said wisely, from her seat next to George, "you're gonna wake up and be really fat."

"No way," Draco frowned at her, "I'm not dating a possible fatty."

"Then Draco," Bill said wisely, pointing his fork—and sausage attached to the fork—at him, "it is your job to make sure he gets regular exercise."

"Oh, don't worry about that," Ron gave him a coy look, and Draco chuckled, nicking a bite of the rich chocolate cake, "I'll see to it."

Charlie was just about to reply, when grandma Weasley came in. She gave the boys a look, and her eyes immediately caught a red mark on Draco's neck. She smiled, somewhat viciously, sitting down on the chair next to Ron. After wishing everyone a good morning, she pulled lightly on Draco's collar before he could protest, revealing the dark love bite Ron had made two days prior, to the entire kitchen.

"I must say you have a special sense of accessorizing, mister Malfoy," he pursed his lips, and Ron knew he was trying hard not to give her a snide remark, "is it recent?"

"Oh no," he smiled pleasantly, a smile everyone who knew him feared, because _it's not pleasant at all, _"this one is."

He blatantly lifted his shirt, revealing part of his boxers and the red mark Ron had left on his groin earlier, right above the waistband of his underwear. Ginny's eyes widened, and Bill and Charlie stretched to get a better look—Hermione glared in disapproval. Ron's face blushed pink, but Draco looked at the old woman unblinkingly.

"Mister Malfoy," her eyes fixed on his face again, a stern look set to her jaw, "you're insufferable. I was merely making small talk."

"I don't care very much for your small talk misses Weasley," he answered, and his cold voice made it clear that he was being very serious, all playfulness gone, "excuse me. I need the loo."

"Drake..." Ron grasped onto his hand to keep him from leaving, but Draco shook him off.

"I'll be right back," and he left the kitchen.

"Now Ronald," when he heard grandma Weasley, he paused, pressing himself against the wall next to the door—eavesdropping wasn't polite, but he needed to know, "I'm wondering if perhaps you noticed—your friends don't seem to find mister Malfoy very fitting for you."

"It's not up to my friends to decide who's fitting for me nana," Ron said, and Draco sighed in relief, "and they happen to be the only ones protesting."

"I hope you don't mind my asking..." she sounded fake-hesitant, and the blonde knew she was up to something, and perked his ears, "but... well, he _does_ have glorious looks. I was wondering if perhaps, you might just like him for his body?"

There was a dead silence, and Draco's breathing hitched, _what? _His head was flooded with all sorts of pictures—all those times they were together, Ron always touching him one way or another—_does he even like me? Know me?_ And the doubting immediately began.

"You think I don't know him," he said—Draco had expected it to sound angry, with his lover's short fuse, but instead it was cold and uncaring, as if he was mocking his nana's very assumptions, _I taught him well_, "but that's not true," Draco swallowed at how secure he sounded, and the redhead continued to explain: "I know his favourite colour is silver but that he doesn't think it counts because it's not really a colour. He reads potions books all the time because they make him think of his father, though he swears he just finds them fascinating," the blonde listened to the words and tried to remember, _have I actually told you this?_ But he must have, because Ron was absolutely right, "he feels guilty, because he used to read them in hopes of his dad praising him, and to him it feels like cheating. He has no idea how chess works but likes it nonetheless, though he'd prefer it if the pieces didn't slaughter each other," he could hear someone chuckle, and was sure it was one of Ron's oldest brothers, "when something happens that he can't handle he takes a shower, mostly leaving all his clothes on because that way no one will know he cries sometimes," Draco smiled, almost painfully, closing his eyes as Ron went on undisturbed, clueless that his lover hung to his every word, "when he's eating something he doesn't like, he makes a face but no one notices, because when he tells them he likes it, whatever it is, he smiles this perfect polite smile, and they always fall for it. When he disapproves of something, he'll start a discussion, no matter what the topic, and will insist on winning it—even if he has to do it kicking and screaming—he simply refuses to be convinced of someone else's view, and sticks to his own no matter what. When he thinks something is really funny he laughs hard and long, and it always ends in a chuckle and a snort. Sometimes he tries to stop himself from laughing because he doesn't like his own laugh, but it's really cute. After sex," Draco could feel his cheeks warming at those last words, curious as to what he had to say about their sex, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, "he likes to be still for some time, and he'll trail my freckles with his thumb. It's the only time he allows me to touch his hair without fussing about it. Nana," he paused, "there's a lot more I could say, but I don't think that's necessary. Draco's body is absolutely divine. But it's not what I love him for."

When grandma Weasley opened her mouth to speak, Draco stormed back into the room—even though he knew he looked flushed—and quickly let his eyes run over everyone in the room. Ginny was goofily smiling at her brother, Bill and Charlie were smirking, and Fred and George gave their brother a little awkward wink. Pothead and Granger were blushing and Ron's ears were fire red. His grandmother had a displeased look on her face, and her mouth was half-opened, though she cut herself off when she saw Draco.

"I eavesdropped," he said, no pause, "come with me."

"I—" Ron began, dumbfounded.

"Now," Draco growled and pulled him off his chair, into the hallway.

In the hallway, he crashed Ron into the wall and kissed him with so much vigour, he was sure he'd made Ron's lip bleed.

"I think one of the reasons I love you, is because..." he looked in distress, and Ron was slowly starting to worry—but he kept on pressing kisses to Ron's lips, one for every word—and Ron couldn't focus long enough to see if he was crying or smiling, "you love me for me," five more kisses, and their lips barely even parted between words, so sweet the redhead could taste them in his mouth, "and no one else ever made me want them so badly," he continued, pressing Ron's shoulders into the wood, "I need you and you don't care that I fuss about my hair or that I'm gushy after sex and that only makes me love you more."

He abruptly stopped his attack, and stepped back. Ron looked quite ruffled, and his lips were blood red. Nonetheless, he was smiling sheepishly.

"We can continue having breakfast now," Draco gave a nod, all traces of his earlier, distraught-self, gone.

Ron chuckled, and wondered if maybe he should have mentioned that he loved all Dracos, and not only the usual regal one. Instead, he took Draco's hand and went back into the kitchen, retaking their earlier place.

His grandmother looked right-down insulted, but instead of asking about their short leave, she decided to continue questioning Ron.

"Ronald," she gave him a look, and he nodded at her, smiling, as Draco poured him tea, not making eye-contact, "I understand you've bedded mister Malfoy, is this correct?"

Draco almost spilled the tea, and he would've, if he wasn't so used to rude, straight-out questions like those. He was a Malfoy—he was used to it—though they weren't often posed by such old woman. He heard Ron gulp, apparently not used to his grandmother's directness concerning his sexual relations with others.

"Is this necessary?" Draco set down his cup with a resounding 'clank', and he saw Charlie grin wickedly from the corner of his eye, _stupid Weasley._

Grandma remained silent, awaiting the answer.

"Yes," Ron coughed, and he pulled the smaller boy more onto his lap, so they could both face her, Draco's eyes cold and uncaring, Ron's wide with offence.

"Does he achieve in fulfilling your needs?" she asked, lips tight—and Draco knew she was old, but he wouldn't mind strangling her on the spot.

_How dare she?_ He really wouldn't care if something fell from the sky and killed her right there.

Ron didn't even understand the question, posed as to make it sound refined, though it just managed to confuse him as to what she actually meant.

"I... what?" he stumbled, eyebrows knitted together.

His grandmother didn't look as if she was about to rephrase her question though—but of course, Ron's lovely brothers were more than happy to do so. In the oh-so-sophisticated way only Weasleys possessed.

"When he sucks you," Fred began.

"When he fucks you," George continued.

"When he rides you," Bill leered.

"Does he make you come?" Charlie ended curiously.

Ron coughed again at their harsh words, eyes widening quite visibly. Draco straightened his back, and looked at his nana instead—he knew she did not agree on what they had, and it seemed unlikely that she would change her opinion of him any time soon.

Draco had expected his lover to freeze. He was almost one-hundred percent sure that Ron would blush and stutter and end up not saying a word. Instead he nuzzled Draco under his ear, his arms loosely around the blonde's frame, and Draco could feel his grin against his skin.

"Of course he does," he replied, and Draco really wanted to smirk, _right back at you, bitch,_ but he managed to settle on a blank expression, as he placed his hands on top of Ron's.

Ron's brothers were nowhere near as civil as Draco, they started howling like beasts and whistling—even Fred and George—which brought an angry look on their grandmother's face. Without another word, she stood and left the room.

"You showed her lil' brother!" George gave him a thumbs up.

"No one's ever talked to her like that," Bill explained to Draco, who looked at a complete loss for words, "when she asks you something like that, you're supposed to say no—you know, confirm her suspicions or something..."

"The point is, you're supposed to agree with her," Charlie chuckled, "and you didn't Ronny, we're so proud!"

Draco was sure of it now. The whole entire Weasley family was insane.

--

Ginny and Ron were playing chess in the living room, when Draco heard the familiar voice of his godfather coming from the hallway. He was having a discussion with Sirius, and the two Weasleys looked up at the noise.

They came closer and suddenly Severus Snape was in the doorway, Sirius following him not seconds later.

"Severus!" Draco went to stand, _I haven't seen him in so long_, but Snape motioned for him to stay seated.

"I've just come to tell you that the mansion is no longer under surveillance," he said, voice cold as always, and the blonde frowned, "you are able to take any belongings from it now, since it is legally yours. The butler will see to it that no one but you is allowed onto the premises without consent. If you go there, Mister Black," he pointed to the man with disgust, "is to accompany you, and you are under no circumstances allowed to enter the mansion by yourself. Do you understand?"

"What's going on?" Ginny's voice piped up, and she actually sounded slightly worried.

"Severus?" Draco did stand now—his parents had been killed and now he wasn't even allowed to enter the house by himself, "there's something you're not telling me."

"They..." he inhaled sharply, and Draco just knew something was off, "they think there might be a possibility that Bellatrix is still looking for you."

Sirius glared at the other man, obviously displeased that he'd told Draco.

"Now, you needn't worry," he assured the blonde, who's face went completely white, "you're perfectly safe here with us!"

"As long as they don't know he's staying here," Snape snapped at him.

"Will you stop frightening him," Sirius' voice raised a notch, and he drew the attention of Potter and Granger, on their way to the living room as well, "he's too young to be burdened with this!"

"Stop trying to protect everyone," Snape replied, voice louder than Sirius', "he has a right to know!"

Before Sirius could comment, Draco spoke, disbelief and hurt sounding through: "they confirmed that it was Bellatrix?"

Sirius bit his lip, and reached out to touch Draco's shoulder—but he did not like touching right now, at all.

"Don't touch me," he growled, stumbling back, "just tell me."

Then, before Sirius could stop him, Severus gave a clear nod.

And Draco was sure he felt his heart snap in two—because dead parents were bad. But not once had he considered the fact that out of all the Death Eaters, it would have been his own aunt that was responsible for the deed.

The only coherent thought in his head, _get out now._

"Excuse me," he couldn't keep his body from shaking as he quickly made his escape, making sure not to make eye contact.

He thought he might be sick, and pushed past his godfather before the man could stop him, two strides and he was out the room, keeping his cool as he tried to reach the front door without losing it. The thought of his family made him gasp for breath, and he really just wanted to drop dead, so he didn't have to be there anymore—he didn't want to have to face reality—panting to survive. He could hear people talking to him, but it seemed useless, because he couldn't hear what they were saying anyway. He pulled the door open in one fast yank, cool air hitting his face, and hurried down the steps. When he set foot on the sidewalk, he felt his insides coil and made a run for it, determined to go anywhere, just not _back there_. Where the walls were dark and depressing, where _she_ had set foot. He couldn't stay there, where everything seemed determined to sort him out. Where everyone was out to get him and no one could just _leave him the fuck alone._

He didn't want to be where his dad wasn't.

Draco made it halfway down the street before someone managed to catch up with him—to his surprise it wasn't Sirius or Severus, not even Ron—_Remus._

He didn't try to touch him, he didn't try to hug him. He didn't even make eye contact. He just used his cautious-father tone, and it always made the blonde melt, to know Remus cared so deeply for him, after only knowing him for such a short time. He said: "Draco, I love you, will you please stop running?"

And he did.

He stopped running and noticed he was out of breath, tears streaming down his cheeks relentlessly, _why me?_

"Talk to me Draco," Remus said in his caring-father voice, and it really always worked well on Draco.

"She killed her own sister," he hiccupped, and he couldn't stop the words from falling from his lips, Remus did this to him, he made Draco talkative and honest and _human_, "she killed my mum," his lip trembled and his chest heaved, "she killed my dad," he was crashing to the ground, but at least Remus was crashing with him, and he stomped the gravel with his fist, "she destroyed my family—her _own_ family," his hands hurt and his knees were sore—he could barely breath and he felt a knot in his stomach where there wasn't one before. He glared, angry tears staining his cheeks, and sneered: "she should've taken me instead."

Remus gathered Draco in his arms at last, and he knew it wasn't the right time to talk. Draco was complicated about absolutely everything, but Remus was sensitive enough to know, that now was not a good time to talk. He didn't have to reason with Draco now, he didn't have to tell him what utter bullcrap that was, he didn't have to tell him he was loved—because Draco knew it all. It did not change the fact that his parents had completely bailed on him, and nothing Remus said would bring them back. So he knew that now, was not the time to talk. Instead he waited for Draco to calm down, and continue. The blonde still couldn't breathe properly, and he was gasping for air.

"You have to let me go," he muttered, trying to get up, and failing—Remus had never seen him in such a state, and it pained him to see this weak, resistant Draco, "I can't breathe—you have to let me go Remus," his eyes were focused on the end of the street, than back at the stones, he looked everywhere but Remus, "I want to see them—I need to see them, I have to... I..."

The brunette sighed dreadfully, a true heartbroken sigh, and he spoke softly, as if someone else would hear him: "Draco... when I was attacked... I woke up, and ever since, the one thing I've wanted most was to wake up, look in the mirror and see _myself_," the confession made Draco cry harder, because _I know what you're talking about_, "tragedy makes you into something quite different then you were before. My point is that things don't always go the way we want them to. Your parents are gone."

Draco hiccupped again, and even though tears kept on falling, his sobbing stopped abruptly. He took a few shuddering breaths, trying to undo the knot, trying to compose himself—Remus was right. And he was the only person that had told him so literally—"_your parents are gone_." He wanted to hug Remus and thank him and love him and be okay, but at the same time, he was too close for comfort. As if on cue, Remus let go of him, though he kept his hand on Draco's shoulder. It seemed as if whatever he did, his tears wouldn't stop, and he helplessly tried to wipe them off with his sleeve, but there were too many.

"Can I..." he sniffed, and cursed himself inwardly at being so weak, "is it okay if I go visit them now?"

"Draco..." Remus stroked his thumb over Draco's cheek, brushing off some tears, "I know it's not my place but... I want you to be safe. I can't let you go on your own."

"You know I'm not going to be on my own," he sniffled again, and then pointed back towards Grimmauld place, where there were redheads and raven heads gathered—even a brunette—trying to see what was going on.

Clearest of all was a tall redhead with black sweats, holding his hand above his eyes to shelter his view from the sun.

Remus smiled and kissed the blonde's cheek, before getting to his feet. He could still see the tears shine in Draco's eyes, but he was sure he would be okay. As he walked back to the house, he crossed Ron, who looked pale and unsettled, rushing to catch up with Draco.

"Love," Ron dropped through his knees and squatted down next to the blonde, "is it okay if I touch you now?"

Draco chuckled at the tone, worried but cautious, and he realised he'd snapped at his beautiful redhead one too many times. He leaned back, pebbles digging into his skin, and looked at him—his cheeks were wet and the tears wouldn't stop running, but he managed to smile.

"This is getting embarrassing," he sighed, "you keep on saving me."

Ron blushed as if he'd just received the highest praise, and silently handed him his sneakers, which he'd taken before going outside. He himself was wearing his worn-out pair, so that he didn't have to walk over the pebbles bare-foot.

"Wear these," he muttered, still shy about Draco's earlier words, "we don't want you hurting your feet when you go back."

"I'm not going back yet," Draco said, rubbing his cheeks again, hoping that he would just bloody stop crying, but even though the ache wasn't as evident, he couldn't stop, "I'm going to visit my parents."

Ron's eyes reflected hurt, and Draco wished he could chase it away, because he didn't want him to be in pain because Draco was. He tried smiling again, but gave a violent sniffle.

"Draco," Sirius bend down next to Ron, and it began to look as if they'd all come to tell Draco that he was insane and they were hospitalizing him—circling him like that, "I brought you your phone," he gave the boy the small mobile, "if anything happens, you call us immediately. I saved the number."

When Draco glanced down at the screen, he swallowed hard, because Sirius had saved the number under _home_.

He gave a small nod, and Sirius patted his back, before leaving again. Ron stood, and reached him his hand, waiting for Draco to stand too. He inhaled sharply, because _this is too hard_. In all honesty, he didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay there and cry, and then scream and cry some more. But Ron was good to him, and he wanted to do something good too, for a change.

So he took the strong hand, and let him be pulled up, back to his feet. His thighs and feet hurt from the pebbles, and he battered them off impatiently.

"The bus'll be easiest, yeah?" Ron looked around as if, out of thin air, a manner of transport would appear, and Draco gave him an uneasy look.

_He does too much for me._

"Freckles... you don't have to—" he started, _I want you to come, but you do so much_.

"I can't let you go by yourself, can I?" he wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders, and on instinct, the blonde leaned into him. He inhaled deeply, relishing Ron's smell, and the way he held him, _just right,_ "you're trembling all over, are you cold?"

"I'm fine," Draco's voice sounded muffled, and he sighed deeply—like he really wasn't fine, at all. He tried swiping off the tears again, but failed, "besides the fact that you turned me into a smooshy train wreck."

"Secretly," Ron pulled back slightly, grinning at the blonde, "you were a smooshy train wreck before."

The noise he erupted from Draco was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and he frowned in confusion when he noted that the boy still hadn't stopped crying, even though he thought he'd stopped some time ago.

"Baby," it had to be the sweetest thing Draco ever heard, and he met Ron's eyes, wide and caring, "we don't have to move if you don't want us to."

With that he kissed Draco's closed eyelids, picking up the tears with his lips as Draco sniffled again.

"I'm fine," Draco repeated, "I just... can't stop crying."

He let out a broken snort, and Ron looked at him—_but don't, I don't need you to feel sorry for me_—looking just as lost as Draco felt.

"If you're sure..." he let go of the blonde, but _don't, please,_ thinking that if he held on to tight, the blonde would shake him off again, "we should find somewhere quiet to call the bus."

Draco nodded, and followed the redhead down the street. He suddenly started getting nervous, _I'm going to see my parents,_ and it didn't seem like a good idea anymore. What was he doing? How could he go there, knowing that his parents would be not okay, six feet under. But then again, he had to argue with himself, because there was Ron. Ron made everything seem so easy and calm—he was like a breath of fresh air. Whenever Draco was around the redhead, the only thing that seemed of any importance was knowing the exact number of freckles that covered the boy's neck, or even finding a name perfectly suitable for that reddish, golden-sprinkled colour Ron's hair had when he was in the sun. It was necessary to talk to Ron for hours on-end, seeing how long they could go before running out of words. Nothing important seemed important—only things that related to _Ron_ and _Ronald_ and _freckles_ were interesting and though it drove Draco utterly mad, it made him feel so _good_. Because anything he wanted, Ron would give him, and at least any problem caused by Ron could be solved by Ron again and that was so _easy_.

Easy was such a relief—because for once he didn't have to think about his parents or his friends or his family. He could just think about Ron and be _okay_.

When they'd turned the corner, Ron wrapped his arm around Draco's waist and kissed the top of his head, taking Draco by surprise.

"Is this okay?" Ron asked, his eyes flickering in doubt.

Draco rubbed his wet cheeks with his sleeve again and flattered himself closer against the redhead's side—it felt good to be held.

"You're a sentimental bitch, but it's okay for just this one time," he leaned his head against Ron's shoulder—for a single second it struck him that Ron was really tall—and glanced up.

"Oh yes, because you're not enjoying this at all," Ron laughed and gave his bare hip a little pinch, caressing the damp jaw with a thumb.

"Behave," he squealed at the move, flinching away momentarily, and an old man crossing the street looked their way oddly, "is this a good idea?"

He blurted it out before even realising, and he immediately wanted to take it back—_too vulnerable, you have to be braver_—but it was too late.

"If something happens we can call Sirius," Ron assured him—_but that's not what I meant._

"I meant us," Draco sighed, averting his eyes.

"Us?" the hand on Draco's hip dropped spontaneously, and he bit his lip at the pained expression that crept onto Ron's face.

"Your grandmother hates me. Your best friends hate me. I'm messing up your life and," he took a deep breath, locking eyes with the redhead, who'd stopped walking, "I'm an emotional basket case, picky, toffee-nosed and high-maintenance."

His eyes focused on the ground, and he waited for any sort of reply. When he received none, he looked up curiously, only to find Ron, desperately hiding his sniggers.

"Toffee-nosed?" he wheezed out, "Drake, I don't give a shit. I want you—hell, everybody wants you!—and I'm just so fucking lucky you'll have me!"

"I'm trying to be sympathetic you wanker!" Draco exclaimed, agitated—some of the muggles in the street turned to watch their small fight, curious as to what two boys in pyjamas could be arguing about, "what good could come from this? On your behalf then—I mean, you're giving me so much! You hold me when I cry and you're willing to give up your mates. If I go off on a whim and insult you, you still manage to find it in your heart to forgive me, and you never back down. You push me till I spill whatever's on my mind, and you never complain if I nag about little things like hair and fat. I've got nothing to give you in return—I wish I did but I'm just not the kind of person to be all lovey dovey and you deserve that!"

"Drake," Ron was still giving him that look—the one that said he was absolutely insane—and he actually seemed a bit amused, "you're nutters. We've been over this. You've told me you love me, you've showed me you love me. I want nothing else."

"But when I call you names…"

"I know you're just being you," Ron chuckled, "besides, it's not true that you're not lovey dovey," he claimed with a smirk, "you can be quite sentimental—but don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

"I am not sentimental," Draco protested with a frown, and he realised that tears were no more falling from his eyes—glad with the discovery, he went to swipe the wetness off his cheeks, but Ron beat him to it.

"Like when you nursed my hand and kissed it afterwards," he said with a laugh, running the handkerchiefed palm over the blonde's face, "that's sentimental baby."

"Calling me baby is sentimental too," Draco tried, his lips up in a pout.

"You call me freckles," Ron countered, and they resumed walking.

"That doesn't count," the blonde took Ron's arm, pretending as if he wasn't even touching it at all, and wrapped it around his own back, placing the hand back on his hip, ignoring the entire gesture, "you have freckles. So, I call you freckles. It makes sense."

"You love it when I call you baby during sex, so it makes sense too!"

Draco glared at the redhead, looking quite scandalised.

"How would you know," he said, grumpy, and Ron laughed, pinching his hip again.

"Because you make the horniest of noises when I do," he whispered, nipping his ear softly.

"I changed my mind," Draco entwined his fingers with Ron's, "I don't want to go there now. Can we go somewhere else?"

"You..." it took him a minute to realise what his lover was saying, "oh, yeah of course!" he made up for Draco's sad look by pretending that _not wanting to see my parents is just fine_, "we can go anywhere you want."

"I want clothes," he inhaled deeply, because he was still not feeling a hundred percent himself, "clothes make me happy."

Ron chuckled and kissed his temple.

"Alright then," he nodded, "and how do you propose we get to the clothes?"

"Muggle-transport is a bitch," Draco stopped and pointed at a bus, "but it serves its purpose."

Ron shook his head, grinning, and kissed the blonde's temple again in answer. He figured that perhaps he'd failed in fixing his and Harry's friendship, but it didn't matter, because at least he'd succeeded in making the blonde smile. And that was more than worth it.

**AN: hehe. I love talking about sex w****ith meh nana ^^ It's so much fun ! It's amazing to hear her out, and note her warning tone when she makes me swear I'll be a virgin till I die, or the inquisitive look when I mention boys and bathroom in the same sentence. I enjoy sex-talk with nana, and I will not hide it ! It's cute cause she's old and her view is so different from mine, since we were born in completely different times... it's marv, really. I love my nana, and even though she doesn't read this, this one is for her :) loveyou nana, your chubby Kyra-kid.**

**So... well, it explained the sex-talk. Is it bad to make the Weasley resemble my family and friends? If it is... well, I'll be damned. I've noticed I let this story pull a Kyra again. Every time it seems like the plot is about to thicken, when a sore subject is brought up, I move on and pretend it never happened -__-" but don't worry. This story'll have its graveyard scene. Just not yet.**

**Because nor Draco, nor I are ready for it yet.**

**After I wrote chapter 18's suckarific sex scene I've been kinda down ._. Stimulate the lovely author and beg for more ! ...some of you can attest that actually obeying me, pays off XP**

**Ugh. Sorry for the weird AN ^^**


	17. Petulant and Priceless

17. Petulant and Priceless

**- TO Empress-Amidala:**

**Again, I'm sorry it took me that long to get back to you - and I swear, I'm not usually creepy in that way... I'll be waiting for the review, and you never ever get to change your profile picture ! It makes me too happy. Hope you enjoy this one love, cause it's for you !  
**

**- TO Reimei-Tsuki****:**

**damn you ! I was rereading some reviews, and noticed you'd changed your dp ! I love it ! Where did you find it ? Gash - it's like it was written for this story dammit T_T hehe, it's so... ugh. We had to make a poster for school, about the things that are important to us, and I used your dp ^^ and no, it was not in a 'yeah, Draco and Ron going at it is real important in my life' sorta way. I also used a banner saying : 'Sirius should Seriously go Shag Remus Already!' and I used it in a way that meant: 'freedom of speech all the way bitch'**

**I mean... as if gay sex is important to me. Hah.**

**But seriously ! I love your dp - 't made me smile ^^ I'm gonna stop rambling now, because ugh, it only a dp ! It's not supposed to make me so overly happy ! But, it does feel like it's pro this story, so I love you for it nonetheless ~  
**

**- TO I'veBecomeSoNumb:**

**I'm glad you got this far love – and let's make this extra good, in hopes of taking you even further !**

**- WARNING: a lot of snogging-in-public ! Fear this sweater ! –erm… chapter…**

**- WARNING 2: I didn't actually personaly spell-check this -_____-' I reread it three times, and each time I didn't find any errors, while I was sure I'd made some that I'd left to correct later on, and it was driving me nutters ! It's so annoying when you know you've made mistakes, but you just... read over them or something. Ugh. It was insane ! Also, I really didn't want to read it a fourth time, since I've been working on chapter 20 (yes, you love me - I know baby) and I was worrying about the sex-scene in chapter... 18 or 19 (yeah, it was total bitch and I don't even remember which chapter I put it in) but for real, the scene was a total pain in the ass -___- and I really didn't want to leave it out, because on a whole different level, I was completely in love with it.**

**Alright, so, the point I'm trying to make is, forgive me, but I just read this three times, then gave it to a friend to spell-check. She didn't find any errors, except that sometimes I'd written 'you' when I meant 'to' for some reason T_T hey, you guys got this far, which means you KNOW I'm weird ! So please, I'm very sorry for any errors that were still left, if you notice one, please mention it in your review or something, 't would be nice to know. Also, read the QUESTION, otherwise, no author love ! AND y'all know you want some author love. Yeah.**

**- QUESTION: I had no idea whether it was 'putt' or 'put', so can someone help me out? 'He was very put when it came to the subject' is it one 't' or two? Thanks for anyone who can tell me ! – if you can't, I'm sure you would if you could !**

When Draco had said 'clothes' Ron had thought 'sweaters'. Nice, comfortable, affordable sweaters. He hadn't thought of shirts that cost twice as much as the ones he had at home just because they had brand names on them. He hadn't thought of suits and fancy jeans and tailor-made clothes.

For a second, he'd forgotten that Draco was a Malfoy. And Malfoys do not like nice, comfortable affordable sweaters. They like expensive tank tops and people kissing their ass.

Which was exactly what they did when the boys entered the first shop of the day. Ron had expected the clerks to be taken aback by the fact that Draco was wearing pyjamas, but apparently they knew him—and were used to treating him like royalty—pyjamas or no.

"Mister Malfoy," a woman came up and bowed politely, noting the entwined hands with a smile, "is he with you?"

"Yes," Draco nodded, "we need clothes, obviously."

"Of course," she guided them into the store—everything looked so crisp and clean, Ron was actually afraid to touch anything, "what would you like to start with?"

"Jeans," his voice was back to being cold and uncaring, and Ron bit his lip, following the blonde warily, "maybe some shirts."

"Of course mister Malfoy," they went over to one of the large fitting booths, and the woman drew the curtains open for them, "I will be back immediately sir."

Draco closed the curtains again, and Ron sat back onto one of the benches in the fitting room, rather overwhelmed. He'd never been into a store like this, and even though he didn't know how much everything cost exactly—calculating from muggle to wizard money wasn't one of his skills—he knew that anything that had four digits was too much to spend on a simple button down.

"Drake..." he buried his head in his hands, amazed that the blonde managed to preserve such an extravagant lifestyle, and knowing he could not in any way afford even a single button in the store, "what are we doing here?"

"What do you mean?" he frowned and started undoing his pyjama shirt, watching Ron's reflexion in the tall mirror.

"This stuff is all really expensive..." he looked at the black shirt that was placed on the chair next to him, as Draco slit the top down his arms, "I can't...—" he couldn't say it.

So much for Gryffindor bravery. Draco saw the boy's reflection sigh and his ears turned red—he knew that to say anything about the matter directly, would only embarrass him more. Money was definitely one of the major issues with Ron, and he was clearly ashamed that he had none. He knew that he could never give Draco everything he wanted, simply because he wasn't as wealthy as the blonde.

"You're talking in riddles freckles," Draco stated plainly, turning to the redhead completely, "everything that's purchased here goes on my card. Can you help me with this?"

He placed his knee by Ron's side, on the bench, and straddled the boy's lap before he could protest, showing him the last button of his shirt.

"Draco—"

"Mister Malfoy," the woman re-entered the booth, and Ron's face spontaneously blushed an even deeper red. Draco gave her a blank look, seeming to all the world as if he wasn't sitting on top of another man, half naked, "I'm sorry to interrupt," she lowered her head in respect, "I need to take the sir's measurements."

"What?" Ron's brows knitted together, and Draco got off his lap.

He pulled the redhead into a standing position, and started pulling his t-shirt off over his head.

"She's taken thousands of people's measurements freckles, don't worry," she nodded to reassure him, and Draco undid the laces in the sweats—causing Ron to flush rather pleasantly in certain places—by the time he'd pushed them down the woman had already wrapped her measuring tape around his torso.

Draco gave his ass a little invisible squeeze, causing Ron to flush harder, and he went back to the bench, pulling down his pyjama shorts. When the woman left again, Ron stood there for a minute, in his boxers with his pants around his ankles, before turning to Draco. The blonde was trying on dark jeans, tight around his legs, and he was just focusing on the zipper when Ron growled: "you are such a bastard!"

"What did I do?" he blinked innocently returning his attention to his lover, and Ron pulled him closer, stumbling over the fabric stuck around his ankles.

In answer he tangled his fingers through the immaculate blonde hair, before pulling him into a kiss. Draco knew they must look ridiculous—Ron with his pants down—as he zipped up his own jeans blindly, feeling the redhead's tongue invade and deepen the kiss.

"Mister Malf—" Ron went to pull back at the sound of the voice, but Draco prevented him from doing so, placing his hand on the boy's neck. He was sure that, thanks to Ron's enthusiasm, the clerk would be able to see that they were a bit busy French kissing, and he heard her shift, "I'll just put these here..."

When he heard her draw the curtains shut, he gave Ron's lips a last lick, before pulling back. Ignoring the heavy flush on his lover's face, he zipped the black trousers up, and looked at his half naked reflection in the mirror.

"Do these jeans make my ass look fat?" he asked innocently, and heard Ron growl—before the boy pounced and started attacking him using his lips.

By the time they'd thoroughly made out, they had also managed to fit quite a few jeans and matching t-shirts. Ron quickly grew bored of the actual shopping part of shopping, but contented himself with snog-sessions between two fits.

Soon they were at the cash register, but all the snogging had made Ron rather frisky, and Draco found it rather pleasant how the boy couldn't go a minute without touching him somewhere—_anywhere_.

"Where do you want to go next?" Ron asked, his lips touching the blonde's neck as he spoke—the cashier gave them a secreted look as Draco inspected the scarves set out on the desk.

They had dressed after the female clerk had charged their new clothes, and she'd promised to give their pyjamas to the male cashier who would put them in a bag with the rest of their clothes. Ron felt a little uncomfortable—not in his new clothes though: the woman had taken extreme care to get him perfect-fitting blue jeans and a red shirt—he'd never _worn_ clothes this expensive, let stand actually owned them.

He didn't like the idea of Draco paying for him, in a way—but the blonde was really put when it came to the subject, and wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Do you want to return to Grimmauld?" the blonde allowed the extensive attention his neck was receiving, and he did so gladly.

He even purred softly when Ron undid the first button on his brand new dress shirt, to allow more access. His fingers were trailing the glass desk, admiring the scarves on display.

"Mmm," Ron licked a trail to Draco's ear, and Draco smiled—even though he'd been protesting at displaying themselves in the store before, Ron had quickly became used to the fact that no matter what the blonde did in here, they'd let him, since he was their best customer—he took full advantage of that fact now, tasting the skin as much as he could, because he knew that as soon as they came outside the store, Draco would want to remain a bit more distant, "not really. I like not having to worry about whether or not Harry and 'mione are planning to get me to confess you poisoned me or something."

Draco didn't laugh, simply because he wasn't sure the redhead was joking.

"Seriously?" he tried to see the boy's face, but it was still buried in the crook of his neck.

"Ginny says they're going mental," Ron shrugged, "I suppose she's right."

From his tone, it was obvious to Draco that he didn't want to talk about it. So he let Ron kiss his neck some more, waiting for the cashier to give them their purchased clothes. The man kept on giving them glances, and Draco found it very hard to hide his frustration. He couldn't be much older than they were, about twenty, maybe twenty-two, but the fact that he was looking at them instead of packing their clothes worked on Draco's nerves.

"Is there a problem?" he snapped—Ron kissed him behind his ear and turned to look at the cashier as well.

"No, of course not," the boy smiled apologetically—_actually, rather seductively_—and coughed, "you just look familiar sir," his smile grew, and his eyes were fixed pointedly at Draco, ignored the redhead hanging off his arm, "have we met before?"

Draco's eyebrows rose at the boy's guts—_is he seriously trying to flirt with me?_—and he felt Ron straighten next to him. For a second he was afraid Ron would blame Draco for the situation—which was rubbish, because Ron was possessive, not daft. The redhead snapped his fingers in front of the cashier's face, making the boy jump and stare at him in surprise.

"Instead of undressing my boyfriend in your mind," Ron snarled, face red, "you could try packing those!" he pointed towards the stack of clothes, "and hurry before I knock you out!"

Draco smirked at the cashier's scared expression, _that'll teach him,_ before turning to Ron—as the other boy scurried to do as he was told. Ron was still glaring, and Draco chuckled softly, drawing the redhead's attention.

"Have I ever told you I love it when you're possessive like that?" Draco bit his lip, hooking his fingers in the space between Ron's belt and the jeans, tugging him slightly closer—from the corner of Draco's eye, he could see the cashier give them a jealous look, "it's fucking sexy when you do that freckles."

The boy blushed deeper and Draco smirked, crushing his lips against the taller's. Ron wrapped his arms around Draco's back and looked him in eye as they separated, a small smile to his lips.

"I never could've guessed snogging you in public would be this much fun," he pecked the blonde briefly, winking, "we should do so more often."

"It's quite indecent," even as he said so, he leaned into the broad body, revelling the proximity, "we should keep to dressing rooms."

"You're a spoiled bastard Malfoy," Ron grunted, licking the side of his neck—earning himself a soft purr.

"Stop spoiling me than Weasley," Draco sighed happily—quite giddily too, and he inwardly cursed himself—and let his head fall forward against the other's shoulder.

Ron's back was bent slightly so he could caress Draco's neck with his lips, and they were standing a bit weirdly, but it really didn't matter. When the clerk from earlier stumbled upon the scene, she couldn't help but smile, as she then helped the cashier out.

"Thank you very much for your purchase mister Malfoy," she gave him their ticket and bags, and Ron let go of his lover, so he could say proper goodbye's, "we hope to have the honours of enjoying your company again soon."

"Thank you," Draco shook the woman's hand, and they turned to leave.

The redhead gave the cashier a last glare, possessively placing his hand on the blonde's lower back—someone held the door for them, and they left, landing out on the busy streets once more.

"So, what—" Ron was midsentence, when they suddenly paused in their way down the street—someone was calling his name.

"Ronny!" Ron's face went instantly red, and Draco's brow rose elegantly, _Ronny_?

The hand on his back dropped spontaneously, and Draco instantly understood what was going on—a vibrant blonde and her friend came skipping their way, _blonde bimbo_—but, blonde bimbo or no, it was indeed the girl that was supposed to be Ron's girlfriend. Or, so Hogwarts rumours told Draco.

She hugged the redhead happily, and was about to press a kiss to his lips—but Ron turned his cheek to her instead. Lavender was obviously displeased at the move, and frowned in confusion. Ron tried to pretend nothing was going on at all, and his hand twitched inches away from Draco's—he's was too afraid to take it.

"Ronny, what's wrong?" she whined, and Draco was very tempted to roll his eyes—her friend, Parvati, was first to notice him, and blinked, "we haven't seen each other for so long!" the blonde girl continued, and Ron's face reddened more at each word, "and you won't return—"

"What's Malfoy doing here?" Parvati gave him a dirty look, and he sneered.

"Are you insinuating you have more right to be here than I do?" he glared and Lavender extracted herself from around _Ronny_'s neck.

"Well I don't see any of your friends here Malfoy," she scoffed, and Draco laughed joylessly.

He was about to retort, when the cashier from the store came running towards them—Parvati gave him an appreciative glance, and Draco grinned, knowing he was about as gay as Blaise—and she therefore had no chance with him. They all turned to him when he caught up with their group—a shopping bag in hand—and Parvati battered her lashes at him. He only had eyes for Draco though.

"What do you want?" the blonde snapped—when he noticed the familiar grey sweater in the bag, he realised they'd forgotten some of their clothes, "you brought me my bag?"

"The manager said I should've offered to carry them sir," the boy said with a small bow, his hair falling in front of his eyes—Parvati gave Draco a confused look, and her eyes flit between the blonde and the cashier, "I'm sorry. You'd left before I could say something—I also forgot to give you the last bag."

Draco was very glad he was being offered a way out of a possible destructive situation—Ron hadn't said anything since the girls arrived, and he didn't look like he was about to tell them why they were there together—so instead of making it worse, he decided to avoid a fight, and take his leave.

"I can carry my own bags," he paused when the boy gave him a pleading look—he even pouted—at which Parvati swooned, "if you insist you may walk me to the bus stop."

"Thank you," the boy grinned and gave Ron a look—Draco didn't notice as he pushed his other bags in the boy's hand as well.

He turned to leave and the boy fell in step next to him. He was about to place his hand on the blonde's back, but, without turning, Draco said coldly: "touch me and I bite you. Hard."

The hand fell down awkwardly, and he heard Lavender squeal something, and a grunt indicating Ron's reply. He really didn't care about leaving the redhead alone with the two girls. He'd had his chances—_no more._

Draco walked quickly without seeming hurried, and the boy tried making small-talk—he kept on asking about Ronald, and it was rather infuriating. Fortunately they soon reached the bus stop, and Draco waved him off, claiming he'd served his purpose and was to leave, _now_. When he refused to, Draco flat-out told him: "look, you couldn't beat my lover, even if you tried, so leave me be before I make you."

The boy didn't look too happy about it, but then again, Draco really couldn't care less.

He'd just gotten comfortable in one of the seats, when he saw the tuff of red hair appearing next to the window. Ron got on the bus just before it managed to drive off, and he soon spotted Draco—sitting by the window and resolutely looking outside.

"Drake," the redhead flopped down beside him, pushing the bags to the ground, "you didn't have to leave."

"Oh yes, because it would be very proper if I stood there and watched you get it on with your girlfriend," he snapped, drawing attention from the other passengers, "definitely considering the fact they're ignorant bitches and I don't enjoy their presence one bit."

"She's not my girlfriend," Ron tried to whisper, eyes shifting nervously around the bus.

"Is that why she tried to kiss you?" Draco drawled, ignoring the curious glances they received.

"I didn't let her, did I?" Ron barked, forgetting his plan to stay silent.

"Oh don't for a second think you have the right to snap at me!" Draco head turned so fast Ron was sure it'd hurt—his eyes bore into Ron's, and some of the older passengers shifted to eavesdrop better—not that it was necessary, since Draco was close you yelling, "I am not the one at fault!"

"You just left!" the redhead protested, now too, ignoring all the attention they were attracting.

"Since you were doing nothing but standing as they insulted me, I didn't see any reason to stay!"

"They weren't—" Ron shook his head in disbelief, but was interrupted when Draco poked his chest fiercely.

"Don't you dare protect them!" Draco noticed that his voice broke down, and he sounded rather shrill, "I didn't tell you to come with me," he continued angrily, snarling, "I didn't force you—yes, okay, you were nice and you helped me when I needed you, but did I insist you came into town with me? No, I didn't. But if you do than I expect you to treat me with some respect, and ignoring me because two stupid bimbos catch your attention is not respectful," Ron lowered his eyes in shame, "I'm not a plaything you can get out when you need it. You're with me or you're not—you don't get to have me halfway."

With that he shoved the bags to Ron's chest in a moment of weakness—not knowing how else to show his anger—and got up, taking the seat opposite to Ron's instead, and glaring out the window defiantly.

The bus was completely silent suddenly, now that they'd stopped fighting. Next to them there were two girls, and as it was so complete and utterly void of noise—besides the thud of the motor—he could hear them whisper.

"The blonde is so cute!"

"Too bad he's gay though!"

He turned to them, and they turned beet red when they realised probably everyone had heard them.

"Oh boohoo," Draco put on a whiny, girly voice, returning to his usual snap when his eyes flared dangerously at the girls, "all the guys I like take it up the ass—poor me!"

"Drake," Ron gave them an apologetic smile and sat down next to his lover, trying to pull him closer, "come on baby."

"Don't you bloody call me baby," Draco pushed him off and swatted his hand off his thigh, "you piss me off!"

"I notice," Ron tried to make the blonde laugh, or at least look at him again, but failed, "please, I just panicked, okay, I'm sorry," he took Draco's hand, and was relieved he wasn't pushed away again, "will you just bloody look at me already!"

Draco visibly flinched at the sudden hardness in his voice, and he glanced at the redhead over his shoulder. Slowly, he obeyed, turning towards him.

"I wanted to come with you, you know that," he extended his hand to pet Draco's cheek, and the boy pulled back, "stop doing that," he ordered, before his voice returned to sweet and caring, "when I saw Lavender I freaked out—she's been writing me letters all summer, but I haven't replied a single one, I swear baby. If you want me to prove it, we'll go back right now and I'll snog you right in front of her. Please don't be angry, I was just scared."

The blonde regarded him for a moment, studying his face with narrowed eyes. Ron was nervous under the scrutinizing look and the entire bus waited in tension for Draco to react.

"You can touch me now," he said silently—Ron's face broke out into a grin, but he managed not to smile too brightly, taking the blonde's hand in his.

By the look in Draco's eyes, Ron knew they weren't done arguing yet, so he swiped his thumb over the pale cheek, hoping to calm him with the motion.

"We are having an argument," Draco said warningly, "don't you try and distract me!"

"Draco, this is leading nowhere," Ron sighed at the blonde's determination, "you left, and I said I was sorry."

"I only left because I knew this would happen," Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest, "I left because I knew otherwise we were going to fight in front of those stupid—"

"But baby," Ron frowned in confusion, "if you left so we wouldn't fight, then why are we fighting?"

"Don't go smart on me," Draco waggled his finger in the redhead's face—a deep frown on his features, "I know what you're trying to do! You will not outwit me!"

"But... I'm not..." he paused in thought, "I'm confused," he eventually groaned, "baby, just let me make it up to you."

"No," Draco said resolutely, determined to keep his foot down this time, "because when you make it up to me, it always involves sex and that shouldn't even count, because you get equal pleasure from it!"

An old woman in the back called: "you tell 'm boy!" at which the redhead glared.

"Then tell me what you want!" he demanded angrily, not knowing what else he could do, "you won't accept my apology, you won't let me make it up—tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it!"

"You don't get it," he shook his head, turning away is mild disbelief, _dense sod_, "you let go. That Brown-bitch came up to us and you just let go. When we are unsuspectingly faced with people you know, you _let go_."

"So would you!" Ron frowned, "baby, I told you already I—"

"Do you know that the clerk that helped us in the store was a friend of my family?" Draco interfered bitterly, "she's known us for a very long time. Yet you don't see me freaking out because I'm holding your hand, do you?"

"You can't juxtapose those!" Ron protested.

"Just say it then," _this is it,_ "Ronald, just admit that you're ashamed of me."

He turned to the redhead, his eyes remarkably moist, and tipped his head to the side only slightly. Ron's mouth dropped, and he blinked twice. He closed his mouth, opened it again to speak, and then closed it.

Eventually, he firmly took a hold of Draco's shoulders—frightening the blonde—and said, dead-serious: "I am not ashamed of you Draco," he reverted his eyes, and his grip weakened, his hands falling down the blonde's sides, "I expect you to be," he said silently, and Draco almost missed it, "so I let go before you can."

Draco blinked at the revelation, and he heard someone make an 'aww, cute!' noise in the back. _Okay, not what I expected,_ he watched Ron blush and felt sorry for ever mentioning it—the boy truly looked upset.

"Ronald," he sighed softly, putting his hand over the redhead's, "I know I can be harsh, and it's very sad we didn't get along before. But I never want you to feel unworthy. If I was ashamed of you I wouldn't have told Blaise, would I?"

"But... we called each other names," Ron moped, "that can't 've been—"

"Well that's because we didn't like each other, due to our families, and our very different choice of friends," his lips tightened at the words, and Ron knew he was thinking of Harry, "we didn't know each other all that much, really—though I think we've solved that problem quite well."

Ron chuckled softly, and he rose his look to meet Draco's.

"Can I be honest with you?" the blonde's eyes pierced into Ron's, and the redhead nodded timidly, "if I'd bring you home to introduce you to my parents, my mum would probably kill me," he shrugged his shoulders like being killed by your mother is an every-day occurrence, "and yeah, my dad would give me a good scolding. But my dad would be happy for me, and if he would've accepted it, my mother would've ultimately followed."

The redhead sniffled cutely, and squeezed Draco's hand.

"What about... disgracing your family?"

"Sure, it would be a disgrace," the blonde agreed, a bit disapprovingly, "but my father wouldn't stop me. He would never let me make the same mistake he made."

"I..." Ron frowned, "I really don't know what you mean by that."

"It doesn't matter, you'll just have to trust me," he wiped his thumb across the plane of the tan hand, and saw his lover smile at the move, "alright freckles?"

"Can I kiss you now?" Ron asked in a small voice, giving the pale hand another squeeze.

"...alright," he gives a zealous nod, and Ron closed his eyes briefly in relief.

He cupped Draco's jaw, and brought his face closer to his own, before brushing his lips against the blonde's. His other hand settled securely on Draco's back, and he scooped closer to the smaller body, engulfing the blonde in his arms.

Some people cheered, and Ron chuckled as they parted—there were also some sounds of disapproval, but they were silenced by the others—placing the hand that wasn't on Draco's back, between his thighs comfortably. Draco eyed the hand suspiciously, but since Ron merely rubbed the thigh with his thumb, he decided not to comment.

"Can we just forget what happened before the holidays?" Ron asked, leaning his head on Draco's shoulder, "I don't wanna think about the name calling."

"It's alright," Draco ran a hand through the red hair, looking outside the window again, "we'll be fine."

--

Draco sighed at his lover's insistence as they worked their way through the crowd in the Leaky Cauldron—apparently Lavender and Parvati had 'casually' mentioned the fact that they were planning on spending the rest of the day in Diagon alley, and Ron was desperate to make it up to Draco—even though the blonde had told him it really wasn't necessary. Ron wanted to make it right, for his own sake as well, because he really felt guilty, after the fight he'd caused.

"Ronald, really," Draco tried again—part of him enjoyed the idea of seeing the stunned look on that bitch's face—but another part wanted to go somewhere quiet and show Ron what he's worth, "it's okay, we don't have to..."

"Diagon alley is nice," Ron's eyes twinkled mischievously, as he tried to pretend they had no ulterior motive to go there, "it'll be fun. We can get ice cream!"

Draco wisely decided not to argue anymore, and took his sunglasses from his pocket when the harsh sunlight hit his eyes. Ron opened the entrance to the busy street, and turned to his lover again, chuckling when he saw the blonde trying to glare the sun away.

"What?" Draco insisted, noticing the redhead's amusement.

Ron grinned, and wrapped an arm around Draco's hip—they joined the shoppers and Ron shrugged.

"You just look so..."

"Yes?" he raised an eyebrow in question, even though it wasn't visible through the shades.

"So serious," he indicated the blonde's waistcoat and then the shades—he did indeed look a bit serious, and very tidy, though he was wearing tight jeans to go with the shirt and waistcoat.

"Well I'm a very serious man, freckles," he raised both eyebrows, and Ron just knew it—even though he couldn't actually see it.

"Oh yeah," he nodded in agreement, "of course," he teased the skin of the pale side, revealed to him right above the dark jeans. Draco smirked at the teasing, and turned to the redhead, "it's kinda sexy, actually."

"Mhm?" Draco laughed when Ron nudged his lips with his own, trying to trick him into a kiss—as he did so, Draco realised once more that he had to bend oddly to reach his pink mouth, and frowned, "you're too fucking tall," before granting him a small peck.

"I like being tall," Ron said wisely, and Draco slipped his arm under his, holding him around his waist as well, "I can reach things on the high shelve."

Draco laughed again, and _if it was anyone else, would it be this funny?_ He figured maybe it would be, but he wouldn't laugh anyway—because Malfoys don't show emotion in public. It wasn't that Ron made things funny, Ron made it _okay_ to _find_ things funny—and inside Draco's head it made sense, but he knew if he'd try to say it out loud people would think he was bonkers.

"Is it me," Ron suddenly said, his eyes flitting around the street nervously, "or are people watching us?"

Draco glanced around as well, and saw that he was right—some people stopped to stare at the couple—luckily it were only a few. They seemed to debate whether or not he really was 'that Malfoy kid'.

"Is everyone I know famous?" the redhead frowned at the looks, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"The only thing me and Pothead have in common is the fact that people know us because our parents died and we didn't," he said bitterly, tugging Ron closer, "just ignore it."

"Drake—" Ron started cautiously, turning to him at the harsh words.

"Didn't you say something about ice cream?" Draco strategically—yet not so subtly—changed the subject, pointing towards Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlour.

Ron nodded, and they headed over to the shop—almost every table was taken, but no one was familiar to Ron or Draco, as most were older people with small children—so they decided on cones so they could look around while they ate. When Ron paid using his allowance Draco felt rather bad about it—since he had enough money, really—but he knew that trying to argue on the matter would be a stupid thing to do. _Stubborn as a mule_, really.

"I don't think I've actually ever been here without my parents," Ron said pensively.

He took a lick of his ice cream and turned to watch as a small girl threw a tantrum. Draco thought about it.

"Neither have I," he admitted—_not once was I here without my father by my side_, "well... I mostly came with my dad."

"It's weird to be just with you," Ron frowned, and turned to watch as Draco experimentally took a lick himself—following the pink tongue attentively as it flicked out a second time, "I mean... just us."

Draco nodded in agreement, and abruptly stopped eating when he noticed Ron's stare.

"What?" he frowned, and balanced his cone so he could feel his cheek—his other arm still around Ron's lanky form, "did I spill?"

"Yeah, there's..." he grinned and attached his mouth to the blonde's cheek—earning a squeal, "mmm," he licked at the none-existent spatter, nibbling the pale skin, "quite a lot."

"Of course," Draco snorted, dipping his finger in the redhead's cone, before drawing a soggy heart on the tan cheek—Ron's eyes widened, and he shivered at the cold, "you're messy freckles," he teased, before giving the cheek a lick himself, "tsk."

"Oh yes, I'm the messy one," Ron bit his earlobe as Draco continued to clean his cheek with his tongue, "you got me dirty."

"You started," Draco reminded him, giving him a last nip, "making up stains so you could molest me like that."

"Oh, it's molestation now?" Ron laughed aloud, that wonderful hoarse noise making Draco's stomach do a summersault, "you used the tongue-thing! I can't be blamed."

"I was eating, you sod," Draco took another lick of his ice cream to prove his point, "see."

"Pff," Ron returned to his own ice cream, eyes going over the people's faces—it innerved him slightly that some of them were watching them so intently, "tease."

Draco stopped the redhead by wrapping his arms around his neck—his ice cream very close to toppling off the cone—standing on tiptoes so he could bite his bottom lip. Ron looked befuddled, and his hand slumped to the side, so he didn't even notice when his ice cream fell to the ground.

"Once more with conviction freckles," he murmured—he could feel Ron's breath on his lips and they were really far too close.

"I thought making out in public wasn't proper?" Ron's breath came out it short pants, and Draco could see him swallowing very clearly.

"So is sucking off your cheek, but here we are," he licked his lips, focusing on Ron's, his look trailing down—Ron's body blushed against Draco's, and he had no doubt whatsoever that _he is not thinking about kissing, the perv_, "so?"

That's all Ron needed—he dropped the empty cone, and scooped the blonde up in his arms, lifting him with his hands on the blonde's arse for ease, so that Draco actually seemed taller than him—before kissing him on the lips, hard. Draco entangled a hand in the red hair, running his fingers through, while trying to make sure his own ice cream didn't go to waste—he moaned when Ron's big hands squeezed him tighter, and wrapped his legs around the broad waist, pressing himself against his body.

"Merlin," Ron panted hard when they ended the kiss, gasping for air, "you're a devil," their eyes locked, and Draco's were twinkling brightly, "fuck."

He kissed him again, licking his lips and begging for entrance—it was rather sloppy—but it felt _real good_.

"We can't," Draco gasped when they separated again, "ugh. I knew making out in public was a bad idea."

"Nuh," Ron desperately tried kissing him again, but Draco pushed against his chest—_if we go on like this, I won't be able to hold myself back,_ "baby, let me back in."

"If we don't stop now…" Ron kissed his neck, and Draco groaned, "Ronald, we can't..."

He heard—and felt—him sigh heavily, and met his eyes as he pulled back. They were dark with lust, and the sight alone drove him mad.

"So... we just pretend nothing happened?" the redhead asked, quickly glancing around—even more people were staring at them now.

Draco nodded, and unwrapped his legs from around the taller boy—Ron set him to the ground delicately—in reward Draco kissed the corner of his mouth tenderly. Ron gave another sigh, running his hand through his hair. He let the other hand slide up to the blonde's back, and Draco slid his arm around the other's hip again, as they resumed walking.

"Hey..." Ron said suddenly, glancing over as Draco took a lick of his still-intact ice cream, "didn't I have one of those as well?"

And Draco just had to laugh at the jumbled face Ron made, his brow furrowing—really, it was too lovely to resist.

"Poor you," he purred—his hormones still not completely in check, "we can share. But don't slobber all over it."

He offered Ron the cone, and the redhead took a lick, even though he still looked mildly confused. He made a face at the flavour, and grumbled: "it tasted better when I could lick it off your lips."

"Everything tastes better when you can lick it off my lips," Draco quipped, and Ron nodded.

"My point exactly," he gave Draco a squeeze, reminding him of the fact that _there really isn't a minute that he can go without touching me._

"Ronny!" suddenly the voice of dread was heard—_Brown-bitch_—and he felt the redhead's hand twitch.

Instead of pulling away though, he grabbed harder, and it almost seemed out of panic—Draco mewled softly at the sting, Ron's fingers scratching at his revealed back—Ron bit his lip, too anxious to notice.

Lavender Brown and her friend, Parvati Patil, were at Madam Malkin's, waving as they saw Ron. Lavender was once more too engrossed in the sight of him to notice, but Parvati frowned when she saw Draco.

"I'm so happy you came!" she waved frantically, and approached the two boys, "hey…" she frowned too when she noticed the blonde boy next to him, "why're you still here Malfoy?"

"Bugger off," Parvati tried hissing, but fell short.

Draco didn't say anything, having to swallow words of anger, and instead waited for Ron to react. It was silent for a moment—in that moment, Draco could imagine all sorts of bad things happening, and he could feel sweat line at his brow—before Ron gave his back a comfortable rub.

"I brought him here," he snapped—quite viciously too—giving Parvati a glare, "don't be so bloody rude!"

"I—I'm sorry," Lavender hackled, "I didn't know you were friends."

"We're not friends," Ron rolled his eyes, and Draco looked at him through the shades.

Taking a lick of his ice cream, Draco saws that Lavender and Parvati were just about to sigh in relief, when Ron lowered his lips onto Draco's—they gasped instead.

The taste of his ice cream was still on his lips—but instead of protesting at the flavour, Ron purred—and he deepened the kiss. He wrapped an arm around the blonde's back, his hand still posed above his arse, and Draco wrapped one of his own around Ron's neck, pulling him closer.

"Wha—" Lavender screeched, and the boys parted, "YOU'RE GAY! I loved you and you're gay!"

Ron groaned and went red at the exclamation, Draco could tell he was very uncomfortable, and glared at the blonde girl, who was still screaming. Though Draco did enjoy the very shocked expressions both their faces wore, he could feel that Ron was angry, ashamed, _hurt_.

"Will you shut the fuck up!" he demanded, feeling Ron tremble in anger, "it's alright," he murmured to the redhead, cupping his cheek, "just ignore her. Kiss me again."

Ron did as he was told, willing to brush the accusations off his back—to forget that she was calling him, 'creep' and 'dirty faggot' and 'nasty'—it worked particularly well, except for the fact that Draco could taste his angry tears in the kiss, could feel the vulnerable tremor against his body.

"Okay, that is IT," he snarled when she'd just done yelling about how they were going to hell—and she shut up when she saw his eyes flare up, the smooth silver swirling into angry black—everyone on the street was watching them now, and Ron choked on a gasp when he noticed there were pictures being taken, "shut the fuck up right now or I will curse you into next week!" he set his hands on his hips, his eyes narrowing, "you think you have the right to call us creeps? Have you looked in the mirror lately? If we're going to hell for snogging each other, you're sure as shit going to hell for worse choice of accessory EVER! Now bugger the fuck off before I kick your ugly fat-ass and make you!"

The girls were too frightened to protest, and scattered away, heading back for the Leaky Cauldron with angry whispers and hateful threats—Ron seemed most frightened of all, shocked by the more-than-intense reaction they'd gotten.

Draco thought it was best not to say anything. They ignored the curious looks, the upset faces—even a flashing camera—and when the way the girls had gone, making their way back to the Leaky Cauldron where they could call the buss in quiet.

It wasn't until they were safely back in Grimmauld, opening the front door—Ron's hand on Draco's arm as if he'd die if he let go—that Draco spoke.

"You do have a rather strange choice of friends," he tried to lighten the mood, but the redhead stared at the tiled floor instead, "Ronald?"

"I didn't know, okay," he snapped, and Draco was slightly taken aback by the strong reaction, "I'm sorry," he sighed, "I just… that was not what I'd expected."

They made their way into the kitchen—where Molly was busy setting the table, Harry and Hermione helping her with the cutlery—and Draco took two cups.

"I'm just saying maybe next time you should think before you decide to stick your tongue down a bitch's throat," he knew it was crude, and he saw Ron glare at him from the corner of his eye, "don't pretend I'm wrong."

"I'm not! But how the hell was I supposed to know Lavender was…" he sighed deeply again, and Molly frowned in concern.

"What happened?" she asked concerned, sitting down next to her son.

"Lavender Brown is a stupid cow," Draco answered, and Ron glared again.

"I didn't know!"

"I'm not blaming you, am I?" the blonde bit back, "I'm letting your mother know she's a stupid bitch! Calling us freaks! Does she know she looks like she ran away from an insane-asylum?"

"Draco love, that's not a very nice thing to say," Molly scolded, before continuing to fuss over her son.

"You weren't there mum," even though he was angry himself not a second ago, he was protecting Draco now, "she said some rude things."

"You call that rude?" Draco sneered, filling the cups with tea, "telling someone to go fuck themselves is rude. Calling them nasty and dirty faggots is something else entirely!"

"No," Molly mouth opened in disbelief, "she wouldn't say such a thing!"

"Well she did," Ron bit, leaning back in his chair, "she wouldn't shut the hell up until Draco made her!"

"Draco—" Molly turned to the blonde, a warning tone to her voice.

"I didn't hurt her, physically," Draco shrugged, and sat down next to his lover—placing the cup in front of him—at the sceptical look, he urged: "really, I didn't."

"He just told her she was fat," Ron chuckled slightly, brightening up, "you should've seen her face. Priceless."

"Did she hurt you?" Molly asked, placing a caring hand on Ron's shoulder.

"Nah, it just… I didn't expect that," he murmured, banging his head on the table, "I tried to make it up to Drake and it just… failed."

"It's alright freckles," Draco brought his legs to his chest and drank some of his own tea, "I'm glad you let her know that it's not appropriate to hug my boyfriend when I'm standing not a foot away."

"Did you fight?" the redhead's mother asked, sharp edge to her voice, and she stood to take the plates she'd set by the sink, "well?"

"It was nothing," Ron tried to wave it off, but Draco furrowed his brow.

"That wasn't nothing—you pretended I don't exist."

"I panicked," Ron said, exasperated—he turned to his mother, "I panicked, really! And we're not going over it again. We made up."

"Mhm, it's alright," Draco linked their fingers when he saw him shake in distress, "it's not your fault you like them completely daft."

"You're not _completely_ daft," Ron teased, taking a nip of the cup Draco'd given him, "only a bit."

"Behave, or I'm dumping you for the cashier," the blonde threatened, and Ron's face dropped—Harry even chuckled—though he stopped as soon as Draco's eyes met his in confusion.

"You're never allowed to go near that shop again without me," Ron grumbled, "that stupid bas—"

"Ronald!" Molly scolded, and he blushed.

"Well 'e was!" his ears went red and Draco shook his head, squeezing his hand.

When Ron looked up, his blonde was smiling, and it said all he needed to know, I only want you anyway.

"Whose bags are in the hallway?" Fred and George asked in sync, as they popped up in the kitchen as well, sensing dinner was almost ready.

"Ours," Draco said—all Ron did was groan, and thump his head against the table again—they regarded their little brother with questioning grins, "don't ask," he chuckled and squeezed the hand again, "cheer up freckles. The ice cream wasn't bad."

"Yeah," Ron murmured, "until it dropped to the floor!"

Fred and George laughed, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"And they say I'm a drama-queen? I have nothing on you!" he raised Ron's head, "you gave it up for a snog. I'd like to think you value that more than ice cream."

Ron smiled goofily and gave a nod.

"Let me snuggle baby," he whispered, and pried Draco's arms open, so he could scrape his chair over to Draco's, and flatter himself against the blonde's chest.

"You're a sentimental sod," as if to contradict himself, he winded his arms around the tall form, "you know that right?" he felt Ronald nod, and Fred and George laughed again—Molly made googoo eyes, but then pretended not to watch—Hermione defiantly looked the other way, and Harry seemed as if he wanted to smile, "glad we have that settled than."

Draco was almost completely sure that Ron said something else, but it was muffled in his chest. It didn't matter anyway—he was comfortable enough, and for once, he could be the strong one. All he wanted was Ron in his arms forever.

**AN: I know – I'm a sadist. For some reason, I thoroughly enjoy making everyone hate them :D Ain't I nice ^^**

**As you've noticed, I'm pretending book 6 and 7 didn't happen, right. But Ron did kiss Lavender – well, more like Lavender mouth-raped Ron, because for sure, that's what actually happened ^^ I know, I know. Brown-bitch? How uninventive am I ! ah well… it gets my point across…? 'Worse choice of accessory ever' : do not argue – have you seen the movie? 'nough said !**

**If I was on that bus, I so would've wooted for Draco :D Because I'm that kinda person. I'd probably be the old lady ! The friend that read this, asked me if I'd based the old woman on mehself - it sounds really rude, doesn't it ? - but yeah... I can get her. And I mean, it's not as if I'm not pro Ron because, I can't actually hate him cause I wrote him that way, but I mean, Draco did have a point. A good one too. Yeah... I pick his side in the fight. But maybe that's just me.  
**

**Ah yes, to end the chapter sentimentally. M-m-mm. Don't I get kudos for not sticking you up with a cliffy ! I'm being nice here ! (I seriously have to stop make them do sentimental crap. But then again, even when they were fighting, meh friend said it was 'cute'. She said she found it 'cute' how they interacted, how Draco's a stuck up prick and Ron tries to force niceness out and fails. Seriously. They're way too 'cute' for my fashion sometimes T__T they ain't cute ! THEY HARDCORE !)  
**

**QUESTION: I had no idea whether it was 'putt' or 'put', so can someone help me out? 'He was very put when it came to the subject' is it one 't' or two? Thanks for anyone who can tell me ! – if you can't, I'm sure you would if you could ! (yeah, second time, because you know you'd forgotten by now !)  
**


	18. Falter and Feel

18. Falter and Feel

**- ****TO ALL !:**** who helped me with my question, a big THANK YOU ! Even those who weren't sure, I'm so happy you took the time looking it up and I'm glad you tried helping me ! A special thanks to ****crazybibliophile**** for the help with my major 'put' 'putt' dilemma, cause she knew for sure that it was 'put'. All the others, thank you as well ! You're all awesome, and this is for all of you:**

**Beka0502**

**Saki Hana**

**crazybibliophile**

**katethegreat82**

**Ms. Marauder-Cullen**

**Luida**

**Nokinaru**

**(sorry if I missed anyone!)**

**MORE TO ALL: Anyone who cares, I seriously want more facebook friends I'd actually talk to – so if anyone wants to add meh, let me know and I'll tell you how to find me ! It'd be much appreciated, I'd like some people I could talk to about something we have in common.**

**WARNING: ah yes. This one has a sex-scene lover-bums. Sensitive viewers close your eyes!**

Ron knocked twice, watching Draco as the boy leaned against the wall. There was a soft grumble from behind the door, and seconds later Harry opened it, tugging up his far-too-big pyjama trousers. Before he could even glare at his former best friend, Ron grunted: "he's making me come get boxers—I can't use Drake's cause his hips are too slim."

Harry stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. Ron stared back. Then Harry stepped aside so Ron could enter the room, and aimed his stare at Draco instead.

Draco looked back at him compliantly, grey meeting green.

"So what the hell are you here for?" Pothead demanded—Draco turned away to look at the end of the hallway.

"He's here for me," Ron slid back out of the room, "we can go love."

He was holding a couple of fresh boxers, and something particularly... fluffy-like.

"Don't tell me..." Draco laughed, "a teddybear?"

Ron pouted as he followed the blonde—the small bear tucked safely under his arm.

"It's cute," he insisted, "I can't believe you never even noticed it before."

"That thing is not coming into my room," Draco said sternly, but giggled when Ron rubbed the fur against his bare sides.

"You secretly love it," Ron said, convinced, and they turned the corner—Harry could still hear their laughter ring through the hallway, and it wasn't until they were well and good gone, that he closed the door.

He couldn't even remember the last time Ron had laughed like that.

--

Draco watched the teddybear sit next to the white pillow as the redhead slept. They had fallen asleep almost instantly, as soon as they'd crawled under the blankets together—but Draco had woken up a couple of hours later. It was dark as pitch outside, the stars the only light source, casting silver shadows on the walls, and causing the paintings to glitter brightly.

Ron was fast asleep, red hair bleeding onto the white covers. His maroon pyjama shirt had crawled up to reveal his bellybutton, the duvet around his waist. He made a soft snoring sound, and turned onto his side, hand grabbing for something that wasn't there—Draco.

The blonde watched him move a bit uneasily, the blanket shifting and revealing the waistband of his boxers. He had tried to fall asleep again after he'd originally woke up—a nightmare of a burning house—but it wouldn't work, so he'd gotten out of bed instead. He liked watching his redhead from afar—seated on his comfortable chair in the corner of the room—because he seemed like a whole different person at a distance. His waistline and chest, like lines of a rough sketch, waiting to be finished. Draco knew that to a lot of people, Ronald looked rough and lanky—and even though he ate like a pig, really, his body responded well to training, and his abs were already showing from playing Quidditch—but Draco loved his big hands and out-of-place body. Besides, his hands were definitely the only rough part of him, all the skin incredibly soft, except there. He just loved Ron—but then why couldn't he wrap his mind around that? Somehow it was too hard to grasp it, and he felt insecure so much it hurt deeply. And then at the same time it was so hard not to smile because Ron made him so fucking happy he just wanted to run around giggling all day.

He sighed deeply—he couldn't even remember how he got there. It was like one day, his parents were there and okay, and then the next they weren't, but Ronald was. Was it wrong, to try and fill up every void he felt with Ronald? Was it wrong to try and spend every waking hour with him, just so he wouldn't have to think about how much missing his parents hurt?

He closed his eyes briefly and turned to look out of the window, his eyes leaving the figure of the redhead, and focussing on the way the wind swayed through the trees. Tucking up his legs, he wrapped his arms around them, and let his mind wander. What if this meant he was only using Ronald? Could he be mistaking love with need?

But then again, he was okay before Ronald. Sure, his parents were dead, and he was going insane and slowly withering away—but Ron couldn't stop that, the only thing he did was take the mind of the pain. It was impossible that Draco was mistaking when it came to this—he wasn't wrong about Ron. He couldn't be.

If he'd been wrong, they would've never kissed. If Draco was using him, he wouldn't have tried to fight him—he wouldn't have tried to make himself believe he didn't love Ron—if Draco was really just using him, he would've taken him, no questions asked. If he was using him, it wouldn't be like this. He knew that for sure, he loved Ron. But did he love Ron because he reminded him of his parents?

_No way_. He loved Sirius because he took care of him like a father, because he was fond of the older man and got nothing but utmost affection from him, and he loved Remus for the same reason. He learned to love their quirks because they cared for him.

He loved Ron for Ron—unconditionally, even when he was sleeping, even when he wasn't there to remind him that he still existed, that he was still _right here_—even when he'd been with Pothead, _I still love Ronald_.

Draco returned his attention to the bed when Ron moved, the furniture creaking softly, giving a huff as his arm outspread. He saw the redhead feel the empty space tiredly, only to realise there was nothing there. Groggily, the boy opened his eyes, blinking at the bed.

"Drake?" he swallowed thickly, his voice laced with sleep as he rubbed at his eyes.

"I'm here," his voice sounded too loud in the silent room, more like noise than speech.

"Hmm," Ron rolled onto his back, yawning delicately, and tried sitting a bit upright, "why are you up?"

"I miss them," Draco turned away—Ron's eyes settled on him, barely able to distinguish his form in the dark, "it's nothing. I just couldn't sleep."

Ron rubbed his eyes again, trying to chase the sleep away. When his eyes darted towards the alarm on the sidetable, he saw it was barely two, and groaned in protest. Flopping onto his back again, he drew part of the blankets back, revealing his own bare legs and inviting Draco back into his arms.

"Come on love," he urged the blonde, but Draco didn't move, "it's too early."

"I won't be able to sleep," Draco said stubbornly.

He looked back at the teddybear next to Ron's pillow, then to the wall and door, and then back to the teddy.

"I never said we had to sleep," a seductive tone sounded through the hoarse voice, and Draco turned to him instead—grey boring into playful brown.

"Oh?"

Ron chuckled at the cool tone, and gave another yawn, petting the empty space next to him.

"I need to tell you something," he beckoned the blonde over when he still didn't move, "come on, it's a secret, so I'll have to whisper."

At the mention of a secret, Draco got up off his chair, tightening the silk robe around his waist. He could never resist his natural curious nature. He sat down onto all fours onto the bed and crawled over to the redhead.

"Tell me," he planned on leaning back against the headrest, but was instead pulled down next to Ron.

"It's really kinda embarrassing," he murmured softly, kissing Draco under his ear—the blonde frowned, _frisky, but he's telling me a secret?_ "so you can't tell anyone," he licked a path to the pink mouth, and Draco felt him lean closer into his body. Their eyes locked, and Ron was grinning mischievously, "you know how I love the bracelet you gave me for my birthday, right?"

Draco nodded, wondering where the conversation was leading.

"I would've liked it even better if you were wearing it—and nothing but."

Draco scowled, biting Ron's lip as a manner of punishment.

"Pervert," he growled, but kissed Ron anyway—hands tangling in his hair—lips moving until they separated, only a breath away, and he continued, panting softly: "I thought you were being serious."

"I was," Ron's voice was gruff and low, and he ran a hand possessively down the blonde's clothed side.

Their looks crossed briefly, before Ron tilted his head, easing the blonde's lips into a kiss. Ron's hands moved over his back, cupped his arse firmly, and pulled him up into his lap—Draco moving to straddle him—their lips meshed together sweetly. Draco made a soft sound, peculiarly much like a purr, feeling Ron's fingers knead against him, through his robe, and started on unbuttoning the redhead's sleeping shirt blindly. Their waists moved together unintentionally, creating a beautiful friction—their groins twitching at the involuntary attention.

"Merlin," Ron's breath came out in short pants, heating Draco's cheek, "baby, you're driving me _crazy_."

Draco gave a faint nod to indicate he'd heard him, moving down to kiss Ron's neck instead. In return Ron's hands clawed at his skin—through the fabric of the silk robe—forcing the blonde to move against him again, and they both gasped. His agile fingers made quick work of the buttons, and he managed to throw off the auburn shirt—tossing it somewhere across the room—before kissing his lover on the mouth again. The redhead pulled back soon though, licking against pale lips soothingly, before moving down to kiss Draco's collar bone, moistening the obscured skin with small pecks. Draco threw back his head, panting softly, Ron's palms massaging his buttocks and the boy's lips burning kisses on his body. It were marks he was sure he'd feel forever—_so good_. His groin moved on its own accord, thrusting against Ron, the broader hips moving upwards to meet his halfway. One of Ron's hands came up and his fingers stumbled over the seam of the silk robe, hooking his thumb so he could reveal more of the marble chest that lay underneath. The tips played over his skin and Draco sighed, hands weaving through the red locks in contentment. His eyes fluttered shut when Ron's lips brushed against a nipple, the pink nubs dusted pertly, a contrast to his otherwise pale skin.

He moaned loudly when Ron's tongue flicked against his chest—so loud he feared for just a minute that the neighbours might've heard him—but he was distracted when he made a slick path to the other side, licking at not-yet-tasted flesh. Draco managed to focus—his hazy mind wanting nothing more than to let Ron do what he was good at—but he wanted him naked and he refused to wait. As Ron took his time teasing Draco's abs with his mouth, his hands crawled down under the robe, coming back up to knead the frail buttocks—determined to have them flushed with excitement by the time the night was over. When Draco felt Ron rub his flesh, parting his fingers to spread his buttocks, he bit his lip so hard tears prickled in his eyes—the wanton moan swallowed by his pride. He felt Ron's grin against his flesh, knowing the redhead knew what he was doing, his fingers chafing over-sensitive skin.

Concluding that what Ron could do, he could too, only better, Draco tugged slowly at the waistband of the auburn trousers, so that he could ease his hands inside the Chudley Cannons boxers. He smirked deviously when Ron choked on a gasp, ceasing all movements when Draco started massaging his heated skin, spreading moisture over the tip and down the length.

Draco was pleased to find that his lover was just as turned-on as he was, and decided he could come claim his reward. Still smirking, he licked the tan cheek, leaving a dark spot on his cheek bone whilst he worked his silk robe completely off his shoulders. Ron's eyes glazed over, roving the naked frame while the blonde continued to work him into full hardness—a string of moans and groans falling from his lips disorderly. Abruptly, he let go of Ron, and kissed his lips passionately, tasting him as if it were the first time as he took the broad hands—still plastered firmly on his ass—off his body.

They separated and Ron whimpered at the loss—the noise weak and complaining—trying to get a hold of the blonde's bare ass again, desperate for more groping. Draco chuckled inwardly, he ran a hand through his hair—everything sweaty and hot—and lay down leisurely, making a show out of getting comfortable on his pillow.

When he saw the look on Ronald's face—biting his bottom lip, eyes like marbles, his fingers twitching, _perfect bliss_—he chortled aloud, moving his hips languorously. With his foot he stroked the freckled thigh, giving the redhead a stare.

"Well?" he spread his legs—almost obscenely—offering Ron his body.

The redhead gulped, swallowing thickly. He let his eyes rove the sight appreciatively, as he slowly got into motion. His hand cupped Draco's leg, and then slid up to his thigh—he firmly took a hold of the pale buttocks, hovering over the other's face so he could kiss him. He pushed the blonde's knees to his chest, lips biting at Draco's reddened mouth, and Draco had to grab the head of the bed to stop his quivering limbs.

If Draco hadn't been in this position before, he was sure he would've tensed as soon as Ron pressed against him—it seemed as if all his nerves were on-edge suddenly, everything hyper-sensitive to the touch. The mere sliding of Ron's hips against his own had him groaning and throwing back his head—his knuckles turning white at the strength with which he held the wooden headboard. The pit of his stomach coiled as Ron moved their bodies together delicately, the bed thudding against the wall steadily with their movements—Draco realised that anyone in an adjoining room would've thought they were wildly going at it, but they were actually going so slow it was driving him mad with lust.

Ron's nails scratched at his arse for leverage, going from groping to grabbing to sliding, never leaving unless it was to draw a figure on the small of his back. His hurt hand continuingly ran down the same course—the hollow of his throat, over his sternum, to his bellybutton, down to where he could feel the warmth radiating off the blonde's heated flesh—only to go up to his throat again. He supported his entire weight on his knees, so every thrust was reinforced, Draco crying out with every drive. Ron's lips nipped at his cheek, teeth leaving small bite-marks and tongue sometimes darting out to lick a sensitive spot—enhancing the tug he felt in his stomach, his skin breaking out in a sweat.

His own free hand cupped Ron's chin, bringing the boy's lips closer so he could taste his mouth before swiping the sweaty, darkened hair from his face. Ron looked absolutely gorgeous, eyes dim and fixed only on Draco, his whole body wet with transpiration, slaving on making the blonde come undone. The noises he made, sometimes nothing but mutters of _'fuck Drake, so good,'_ or soft curses, such a turn-on they were almost lewd.

Ron, was the only one Draco knew that could make him hot with trivial words like _'amazing'_ or _'tight'_. _And it has nothing to do with the fact that he finds me amazing and tight_, a snobbish part of his brain remarked, as the other focused on being alleviated of the tight tension high-wiring through his body. His head thrashed every time Ron piston his hips forward—he could feel him throbbing inside, making Draco's whole frame twitch in passion, the tremor in the tanned abs signalling his near-climax—sliding deeper into the warmth of his lover's body each time.

Draco's reaction was unequivocal, he opened his thighs, knees bumping his shoulders as Ron helped him spread them further, allowing a new sensation to flood his senses. The new angle felt even better, and Draco's hand snapped to the headboard, grasping as tight as the other, to keep from crying out—his vision blinded with prickling tears as an amazing warmth pooled at his bottom and thighs, heating his body from inside-out. Ron's finger pads stroked the skin there as if to calm him, brushing the sensitive muscles as his hips continued their pounding assiduously—the should-be-sweet gesture drove a shudder up Draco's spine and he moaned loudly, a bubbly sound erupting from his throat.

Ron thought it almost cute, how he tried to stop the noise from leaving his lips, biting down hard.

He licked Draco's temple compassionately, chasing the tears from his face—Draco watched him do so with hazy eyes, his whole body on fire, heat enabling him to move—before kissing his lover's lips. They'd gone blood red, and a small twitch shook the lithe frame under his own, letting him know they were quite bruised. Again he licked at them in compassion, unhurried—contradicting the need with which his hips plunged forward, meeting Draco's. Ron's fingers twitched with tension, scratching at the slightly raw skin of the blonde's arse, and Draco saw his abs quiver uncontrollably—his own toes curling.

"_Ohfucknocrap_," Ron cursed hotly, feeling his orgasm close-by, and dug his nails deeper into the skin, pulling Draco's waist off the bed, completely flush against his own, "Drake!"

Draco nearly choked at the move—but instead he moaned hoarsely, _"Ronald, so deep,"_ crying out the redhead's name as he came not a second after, the sensation of Ron climaxing inside his own body too overwhelming to withstand.

Hot-white pleasure tainted his skin and his frame curled whichever way, insides coiling. They rode out the waves together—inane mutters coming from Draco's lips, every time he felt the redhead twitch inside—sticky and hot and tense. Even as his senses calmed, Draco's hips moved with Ron's on instinct, until the redhead eventually slumped down and pulled away from him carefully as he leaned back to sit on his heels—Draco's body resting, from the waist-down, in Ron's lap.

"Damn," Ron cursed softly in awe, pushing his hair from his sweaty forehead.

Draco made a soft groaning sound, his legs obscenely spread, knees next to his head. His back was bent a bit oddly, so the lower part and his arse were resting on top of the redhead's thighs, as he bent back and stretched.

"Bloody hell freckles," Draco chuckled hoarsely, bringing both legs together in the air—he knew he was probably giving Ron a most indecent view of his behind and parts that came attached to it, but couldn't care—hearing a soft purr, he figured Ron didn't care either, "you get better every fucking time."

Ron cupped one buttocks with his sweaty palm, and spread the blonde's legs again with the other, so he could see his face—the redhead wore a goofy grin, and licked his lips, eyes trailing down Draco's spent body. One of Draco's long legs crashed down next to his body, as he was too weak to keep it up, but Ron brought the other to his shoulder, bending it at the knee to fold it over his back. He kissed it delicately, and winked.

"I'm glad it was good for you too baby," Ron kissed the boy's ankle softly, and Draco suddenly realised how nice and confident he'd gotten—as if all of a sudden, Ron understood that the blonde wasn't about to leave him, and that there was no need to cover himself up when it was just them—and he smiled at the idea that maybe next time, he should ask his lover for a strip-tease, "you look so bloody sexy, all sprawled out like that—damn tease, you are."

Draco laughed, his face splitting into a wide grin, _and I can't stop it, even if I wanted to_.

"I'll have you know," he poked the tan neck with his foot, Ron's grin widening, "that I was just about to turn onto my side when you took my leg hostage."

"Turning onto your side my ass," growled Ron, giving said pale arse a squeeze—which sent a stinging shiver up Draco's spine, "you were giving me the nicest view ever, ruddy cocktease."

"Shut the fuck up," Draco moved his leg over Ron's head so it fell down next to his other one—lower body effectively turned to the redhead, "and get your freckled ass over here!"

Ron obediently flopped down next to the blonde's pale body—sweat prickled on his skin, shining in the light of the stars outside, casting empty shadows on the walls—weaving a hand together with Draco's.

"I know you're gonna call me overly sentimental," Ron's ears flushed red prematurely at his own words, his voice still hoarse and his breath shallow, "but I love you."

"Hmm," Draco felt a small pricking in his lips when the redhead kissed him—Ron noticed the small twitch of pain, and pulled back, concerned, "I'll let it pass this time. But really, all sentimental crap put aside—I'm very fucking happy you decided to pull me into an empty hall closet one fine morning."

He felt as if it needed to be said—because once upon a dining room conversation they'd promised to talk about it and they never had, because actions spoke so much louder than words—yet now that they'd come this far, Draco felt obliged to tell Ron, that yes, this was it.

He was in fucking love with Ronald Weasley.

And it was _okay_.

"I'm head over with you Drake," Ron murmured, bringing his thumb up to lightly stroke the red, chapped lips, "do they hurt much?"

"They're fine," he nuzzled his lips against Ron's cautious thumb lovingly, "sometimes it stings a bit—kiss it better?"

He gave the redhead a fake-innocent look, eyes widening slightly. Ron wetted his lips and pressed his mouth against Draco's, allowing the blonde to take control of their kiss. Draco wanted to smile at the small gesture, _too damn sweet_, but instead he deepened the kiss and caught the resounding groan Ron let out, between his lips.

"What is that baby?" asked Ron when the parted, giving the key around his neck a tug, "_your special sense of accessorizing?_"

He said it mockingly, mimicking his nana's voice to a point of scary perfection, and Draco scowled.

"It's the key to my father's study," he commented dryly, giving the teasing redhead a glare, "he left it to me—while he was still alive, I was never allowed to enter the room without him there to keep an eye out. He always locked the door."

"So now you have full access to his secrets?" Ron's voice was still cheery, and he kissed the corner of Draco's mouth, their breathing still somewhat hard.

"Mhm," the blonde nodded, and turned onto his stomach, craning his neck to give Ron another kiss, "how is your hand?"

Ron shrugged, and moved the handkerchiefed palm over Draco's sweaty back, down to his buttocks—they were a rather endearing pink, angry scratch marks hissing on the surface—giving a small pinch that caused Draco to hiss.

"Much better than this," he remarked, moving closer to the blonde's relaxed figure. He nipped at Draco's chin, sliding his tongue up to curl around his ear, "should I kiss it better as well?"

He snorted at his own remark, and moved down to kiss the pale buttocks lovingly—giving one of the wounds a soft nip—before fitting half his body on top of Draco's, weaving his leg between the blonde's.

Draco turned his head slightly so he could kiss Ron again, their tongues lazily battling for dominance as their bodies rested, exhausted from their earlier activities.

"Mmh," Draco purred when Ron's hand soothingly cupped his backside again, giving it languid strokes in comfort.

"We should have a bath," the redhead nuzzled Draco's nose with his own, cautiously giving the still-red mouth a lick, "I can take off the handkerchief and clean the wound."

"Alright," he gave a small nod, moving his body more snugly under Ron's, contradicting his own words, "if you run the bath in the bathroom down the hall, I'll go make tea—I'm rather thirsty."

He wanted to smile when the redhead still didn't move, their eyes locked and their bodies at ease—even though they were impossibly close, so close he could feel Ron's slowed breath against his cheek—and he realised how much he'd always wanted someone to share a moment like that with.

He realised for the first time, how much he'd wanted it, for quite a while now, with Ron.

For the first time since Ron pulled him into a closet and called him a 'fucking bastard' he wasn't afraid to admit that yes, he'd been in love with Ron—for two years now, almost.

Though it pained him to find that he had simply been too stubborn to admit it, he was proud knowing that he could say it now—after all that had happened, he would no longer hide his feelings—because Ron was _so_ worth it.

"You know," he whispered softly, not wanting to break the calm silence, "I've just found out I've been in love with you since fourth year."

"How's that?" the other boy blushed at the words, but tried to hide it by acting cool, flattering his cheek against Draco's.

"I was jealous at the Yule ball, when you took that Patil what's-her-name bitch," his eyes hardened, and Ron stroked his back sweetly—trying to will the hardness out his stare, "even if you looked rather ridiculous, and didn't dance all night."

"Dressrobes aren't really my thing," Ron said, cheeks reddening even more, "and the only reason I didn't dance was because I couldn't dance with the person I wanted to."

Draco scowled—and though he really didn't want to ask, he felt inclined to—trying to sound careless, he inquired: "oh?"

Ron grinned sheepishly, scratching the back of his head—obviously a bit nervous.

"Well, I fell in love with you in second year," his cheeks reddened again—and this time he didn't manage to hide it from the blonde, "when you played your first match."

"Quidditch makes your knees wobbly?" Draco asked, disbelief sounding through, _seriously, the guy has weird fantasies._

"I didn't say Quidditch makes my knees wobbly," he protested, frowning, "I don't know… it was just. I mean, you're such a stuck-up prick but when you play you kinda look…" he blushed a deeper shade of red, and Draco stared in mild curiosity, wondering how many shades his cheeks could take, "gracious and free… and well, the breeches, they're kinda sexy. I can't explain," he bit his lip, "stop looking at me like I grew an extra head!"

"It's just… I never knew," Draco blinked, before grinning, "you're a man of many odd foibles, freckles!"

"It's not a foible," he frowned, pouting slightly, "it's not like I systematically came to look at you play! It's just how I fell for you."

Draco chuckled softly at the petulant expression on the redhead's face, before murmuring: "well, at least some good came out of me playing," and then pressed his lips against the other's, "I never thought you to be so kinky, breeches, really?"

When Ron noticed Draco was teasing, he stuck out his tongue, giving the blonde's ass a vicious squeeze. Draco laughed at the reaction, flattering his head against Ron's broad chest momentarily, turning onto his side slightly.

"It's a bit sad we've liked each other for all this time yet never admitted it to each other," _never admitted it to even myself, always ignoring every sign, so convinced that loving you just isn't right—but how can I think that now, after all you've done to prove me wrong,_ "but I think we're doing pretty well, catching up on lost time."

Ron wrapped his arms around the slim shoulders, resting his head atop the blonde mop.

"I agree," he smiled, "I get it though—we were so busy hating each other, we probably wouldn't even have noticed if love slapped us in the face with a neo-fluorescent leek-stick."

Draco knew it was a very serious moment, and he knew Ron was being very honest—_and so right, nonetheless_—but he flew into a fit of laughter and all he could do was utter: "neo-fluorescent leek-stick?" between giggles.

Ron pinched his ass again and then kissed him, full-out on the lips—it was a bit sloppy, due to Draco who was still laughing—nipping them tenderly as he pulled back. He stuck out his tongue and Draco rolled his eyes, stretching as he pushed himself up. He fished out a pair of socks from the bottom of his drawer, the floor shooting cold up his body, and he shivered violently. From nice-and-cosy hot to freezing cold was too big of a contrast, and he really just wanted to crawl back under the blankets. Instead—repressing another shudder—he draped himself in Ron's thick pyjama shirt to warm up. It was too big, almost reaching his knees, but it was comfortable and warm. He hugged himself to chase the cold, and glanced over at his lazy lover, as he pocketed his wand.

"It seems like the heating's a bit off," Draco commented dryly, "the floor's not usually this cold."

Ron smirked sheepishly. Wriggling his eyebrows—trying to be seductive—he leered: "but the bed's still warm."

"But freckles, you're still sticky," Draco replied, and Ron's smirk grew—he reached over to try and tug Draco, hooking his thumbs into the shirt.

Instead of getting the blonde to lie down next to him again, he fell flat on his face, coming in contact with the cold floor—having simply rolled over and off the bed.

Draco clucked his tongue as Ron gave a small yelp, and moved to sit up—pouting.

"A graceful man, you are not, Ron Weasley," he cupped the blushing boy's cheek—embarrassment colouring his face, "but I'm glad I have you."

With that he kissed him delicately, and moved towards the door, leaving a distressed Ron behind—who only managed to blush more at the given praise.

--

When Draco first came down the stairs he was convinced he was alone, and found it rather creepy—the house was so dark, and it was eerily quiet—he almost missed a step in his haste to get to the kitchen, where he could get some lights on.

He could vaguely make out the door, still opened, but only darkness lay beyond it. Blindly, he searched for the light switch, and then nearly got a heart-attack when he realised he _wasn't_ alone. _Potter_.

"Potter?" he couldn't keep the gasp of surprise out of voice.

Pothead on the other hand, merely shrugged his shoulders—not even looking up—he'd obviously heard Draco when he'd come down the stairs.

"What do you want Malfoy?" the raven grunted, and to Draco's surprise, his cheeks were wet, _he's been here, crying?_

"I... wanted tea," Draco finally moved, striding towards the counter.

He tried to discretely tug at Ron's shirt, not willing to flash Pothead with any skin, but the raven caught his reflection in a mirror hanging by the wall, and frowned.

"What are you wearing?" he questioned harshly, a grunt-like sound, voice tired.

Draco avoided his mirror-image and tugged down the seam to assure his ass wasn't showing.

"Just a shirt."

"It's Ron's," Harry's voice had a hard edge to it, and Draco searched for a teapot—needing to focus on something else but the other boy in the kitchen, "he's sleeping with you?"

_I thought we'd already established that_, Draco wanted to sneer, but then again, he really didn't want to fight. He just wanted to get some tea and get out. Hiding behind a straight face, he just got out a kettle without turning.

"I couldn't let him sleep on the couch, could I?" he set the kettle down and filled it with water—when he heard Harry laugh maliciously, he frowned.

"You've just come to rub it in, haven't you?" he threw a glare at the blonde, and Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest, "just drop the act already, I get it!"

"Actually, you don't get it at all," the blonde snarled, "you couldn't possibly know what it's like, holding someone when they're sad, when you're what caused it," _forget to mention how hard it is to have parents, to come home and have none,_ "if you would've at least given Ronald a chance to explain maybe you wouldn't be sitting in the kitchen at night, crying you eyes out."

Harry scraped his chair backwards, eyes shooting fire at the comment.

"Well at least I'm not a heartless bastard like you! Did you even cry when your parents died?"

He baled his fists and his jaw tightened. The blonde's cheeks tainted a soft pink, an obvious sign that he was furious. In a split second they'd both drawn their wands, _Potter's quick, you gotta give him that_, and Harry was spilling profanities.

In an extremely irrational way, it was kind of funny.

"Now you're gonna get all sentimental?" the raven spit, "stuck-up bloody coward! You don't even give a damn about your own parents! With the way you're acting, you might've just as well killed them yourself!"

Rage spiked up his body and his lip twitched—his blood was boiling and oh, _I wanna knock him out dead!_ Before he could give into temptation and attack the Golden Boy with his bare fists, a woman's voice scolded sternly: "boys! Behave!"

Harry lowered his wand in shock, eyes fixing on the door—Draco didn't move an inch though, because he knew who the voice belonged to, _nana._

When the old Weasley noticed Draco didn't relax from his action stance, she put her hands to her hips.

"Mister Malfoy," she said warningly, and Harry turned back to the blonde—his wand was still pointing at Harry, his eyes cold and his figure rigid.

"Misses Weasley," he returned as if they were merely having pleasantries, and he saw Harry shiver at the tone of his voice—apparently the boy understood that Draco wasn't kidding around.

"Lower your wand mister Malfoy," nana scolded, "this is preposterous."

"He insulted me," Draco said coldly, "I think it's merely fitting I get to defend my honour."

Harry gulped as Draco's eyes flared dangerously, and nana tried soothing him, her voice deliberately calm: "mister Malfoy..."

"Baby?" Ron called from the hall, and Draco briefly glanced at the door—they heard a thump and Ron swore, "Drake?"

"In here freckles," Draco still didn't move, _I'm not gonna pretend not to want to curse his best friend._

"Nana?" Ron appeared next to his grandmother—his tan chest completely bare, as he was only wearing his pyjama trousers, the ones that went with Draco's shirt—Pothead would have glared at him, if he had not been so busy creeping away from the blonde with the wand.

"Ronald," nana gave a nod, and Ron frowned at the sight of his grandmother.

"Har—" he blinked as he saw his former best friend, and when his eyes fell on Draco they widened, "Drake, what are you doing?"

"He's a bastard," Draco said simply, as if it explained everything.

"You don't curse people for being bastards," Ron made no amends to get his lover to lower the wand, and it seemed to frighten Harry more, "what did he do?"

"He..." _does it matter? Just hit him—you can hit people for being bastards, Ron doesn't know what he's talking about,_ "I don't need a reason."

"Mister Ma—"

"Drake, stop it—if he's being a bastard just let him," he shrugged his shoulders, "you don't care about what he says. Come on."

"He doesn't get to insult my parents," Draco snarled—more at Ron than anyone else, really, "you don't have the right to act like you know them!" he glared at Harry, and the raven fumed.

"You didn't care before!" Pothead screamed again, as if it was the only thing he could say, "Just do as your penniless traitorous _master_ says and leave like a good bitch would!"

Nana's mouth dropped and Ron's ear flamed red—he was about to yell right back, maybe even give him a good whack across the head—when Draco's fist connected with Harry's nose and the Golden Boy was sent flying back into the table.

As the two redheads stared in shock at the whimpering mess on the floor, Draco picked up his wand—which he'd dropped in order to hit Harry—and took his tea off the counter.

Ron stared at Harry for another second, before he realised Draco was simply taking his leave, pretending that he hadn't just knocked the most famous Harry Potter out cold. When his eyes locked with Harry's, he knew he was sorry—but sorry came too late.

"Drake," he caught up with the blonde in the dark, grasping the back of the shirt, "wait."

"Are you going to tell me how horribly wrong that was of me?" Draco turned—the hall was pitch black and he couldn't see a thing, only Ron's eyes, radiant as always.

"No," Ron smiled—and it was so broad Draco saw his teeth glitter in the dim light, "that looked like it felt good."

As the words sunk in, Draco laughed aloud,_ of course._

"You're absolutely daft Weasley," he grinned, pulling the redhead into his chest—he felt him shiver with pent-up anger and knew that Ron still wasn't over Harry's outburst of the other day.

"You broke the Golden Boy's nose," Ron murmured, "and then I'm the daft one?"

"Mhm," Draco led the boy to the stairs blindly—he hoped this wasn't Ron's way of breaking down, because he wasn't sure if he could stop him from crying this time, "I guess you might have a point."

Ron flattered his head against Draco's shoulder and nodded—he was quiet as they walked to the bathroom, and Draco wondered if he was thinking about the incident in the kitchen, or something else entirely.

When they reached the bathroom, Draco spontaneously started smiling—Ron blushed when he saw the blonde's grin—as it appeared that the redhead had tried to romanticize the room. He'd placed candles on the sink and on the floor by the tub, the light casting shadows on the wall. The whole room smelled of vanilla, and the water was covered with a thick layer of frost, looking quite inviting to Draco, whose limbs felt rather tense.

He eyed Ron curiously, the boy standing a bit oddly by the door, and quickly took off his socks, before he undid the buttons on his shirt niftily. Turning his back on the redhead, he smiled as he saw Ron's reflection stare at his own back intently. He felt the amber eyes pierce through his skin when he slid the fabric down his shoulders slowly, revealing his own pale flesh to Ronald's lustful gaze.

The shirt landed on the floor with a muffled thud, and he moved towards the bathtub, making sure to not knock a candle over—he glided a foot into the foam and, content with the temperature, sat himself down. Leaning his head back against the cool tiles of the wall, he purred softly in approval.

"It's really nice," he closed his eyes momentarily, relishing the relief of tension the hot water brought, "won't you join me?"

His eyes went to the redhead again—Ronald had closed the door, but hadn't moved further—inviting him with just a simple look. Ron nodded feebly, pushing his trousers down his knees. It was endearing to watch him step out of them clumsily, covering his naked flesh. He stood there awkwardly, as if not knowing what he was supposed to do next, naked in the bathroom.

"You're gorgeous," Draco stated—he realised with a start that he sounded a bit out-of-breath, as if his lover's beauty actually overwhelmed him, and realised that, in the heated light of the candles, it had, his freckles throwing tiny shadows on his body—he outstretched a hand, beckoning Ronald over, "come here."

Ron blushed but did as he was told, hands still trying to cover up as much as they could. When he was close enough, Draco flattened his hand against the strong tanned thigh, and motioned for Ron to sit. He did so willingly, glad he would be hidden under the thick foam.

He sat close to Draco, but was pulled between the blonde's legs instead—Draco wrapped his legs around Ron's torso, locking the broader body between his thighs. He kissed one of the shoulder blades tenderly as he reached for Ron's hurt hand, and started undoing the bandage.

"Draco..." Ron relaxed against Draco, feeling the other's body encase him completely, he felt secure, "I don't..." he closed his eyes and let Draco take care of him, never even finishing his sentence.

As soon as Draco felt Ron relax, he took to tending the redhead—the cut hadn't properly healed yet, and looked rather sore—feeling a need to be _the strong one_, even if it was rubbish and he just wanted to be _there_.

He soaped up the tan back, rubbing his thumb over all the small dots there, ridding his lover of any sweat and grime. Ron let his head fall forward when Draco started on his tense shoulders, sighing in bliss, the redhead's fingers petting up and down the leg around his hip. Draco's hands crawled forward over the boy's ribs and he lathered his chest up from behind, hand trailing down to clean his stomach. The redhead hummed softly when Draco continued moving down, brushing past his thighs. He lifted one of the legs, fingers drawing figures around the little freckles, moving the suds. The wounded hand of his lover absentmindedly petted his thigh, and drew it up closer to his own body, not wanting to lose the secure feeling he had when Draco was wrapped around him like that. They sank deeper into the foam and Draco leaned his head back onto the tiles—Ron followed him as if automatically, the back of his head rested against the blonde's frail chest.

"Is everything alright freckles?" Draco asked eventually, _I really should, since I can just feel the tension,_ he folded his arms securely around Ron's torso and heard him sigh.

"I don't..." he opened his eyes again and dipped a finger in the layer of froth, staring at the bubbles as they dissolved, "I don't know what to do about Harry."

Draco swiped the damp red hair from his lover's face, soothingly running his tips down his neck.

"You know I don't like him," Ron wove his fingers together with Draco's, turning his head slightly, "but I think he misses you. And he's a bastard but he needs you," their hands moved back into the foam, and Ron grasped the blonde's thigh, _closer_, "so it'll be okay."

_It might 's well be a lie, but if it comforts him, it's good enough._

"The way he acted I'm not..." he sighed deeply—as if he was really in deep pain—and Draco kissed him behind his ear, silencing him before he was forced to finish the sentence he really didn't _want_ to finish.

"You're not sure you want it to be okay," Draco felt Ron nod deftly, and they sank deeper into the water, Ron's fingers skitting over his skin, "I understand that you're angry with him, and he was wrong for overreacting but..." _I don't..._ "I don't even know what I'm saying," Draco shook his head and Ron blinked in confusion, "I don't even like Pothead, and now I'm defending him? Urgh," he grunted and the redhead chuckled softly.

"Draco?" he turned towards the other, their eyes locking—Ron was smiling and Draco figured that maybe _I haven't completely screwed up_.

"Mhm?"

"I love you for trying."

**AN: I will not have any bad comments on the sex-scene ! It took me long enough to write, so don't you dare criticize because it's as good as I could make it -__- -sighs nervously- when my friend read this, she commented on the fact that I used unequivocal and acquiescence in the same sentence – we're Dutch and she doesn't understand those particular words – complaining that I use 'too fancy' words during sex ^^ It made me laugh.**** But, for her sake, I left one out.**


	19. Flirt and Fight

19. Flirt and Fight

**TO EVERYONE:**** Yay for JaceDamian23 calling Lavender a NUT ! Give meh a big round of applause, cause she's back ! I missed you so much hun, it was like a piece of meh arm was cut off or something ! – or well, maybe not **_**that**_** extreme. But I did miss you pretty bad -___- did you get any of my hopeless/desperate PMs/mails ? I kept on thinking I'd pissed you off, it was hell, I swear !**

**BUT ! you're back ! and you better be back to stay !**

**FOR NEJIXTENTEN4EVERZ****: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ! This one's for you deary, I hope you had great fun ! and yeah... I didn't update very quickly, did I... but I like having some few chapters finished before posting a new one, because I'm strange that way. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ! And please enjoy your very own, Crazy4Moony birthday present !**

**TO JUSTINE:**** hello there, you mysterious anonymous reviewer ! I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, so I can't say whether or not Draco gets pregnant, but whether he does or doesn't, that **_**wasn't**_** the scene where he got pregnant ^-^ even though I've kinda come to grow fond of this particular sexscene, I want an even better one – if I make him pregnant that is! – or maybe two, following very closely, to make sure Ron, ah, hit the mark éh ! –naughty wink- I enjoy writing this story a lot, honestly, but it's very nice of you to want me to like writing it half as much as you like reading it, that means a lot to me, really, and I am also glad that the first story you read in three years was mine ! I look forward to another one of your lovely reviews, and I do hope you will still like this story after this chapter... DUM DUM DUM!**

**TO ANIMEBUG, the anonymous reviewer:**** you rated me ! I've never been rated before, that was so cute and original :D I wish I could thank you by PMing, damn you for being anonymous ! Thank you very much for the ratings, 5/5 for sex ? Damn baby, that's hot ! And I'm very happy I have an A+ ^-^ we get rated differently, so A+ is very special to me, thank you so very much :D**

**AN: the fight's... probably not what you think. Also, I like Damien. He's got flair –coughcough-. Any errors still left, I apologise for.**

When Draco woke up he felt as if he'd barely slept for ten minutes, though the clock indicated it'd been five hours. His neck was slightly straining, Ron's arm tucked under it, the redhead's upper torso matching into Draco's side perfectly. Ron's soft snores fanned cool air against Draco's hair and Draco's hand was numb from lying underneath the other's body for the rest of the night. All in all, he wasn't very comfortable, and he was actually surprised he hadn't woken up somewhere during the night—_but then again, it was a rather busy night._

He turned onto his side, carefully pulling his arm out from under Ron, and resituated his head onto the broad chest. Confident that Ron was fast asleep—his breathing steady as before—he draped his leg around the redhead's, flattering his head into a more comfortable position. Even though it was unpleasant not a minute before, Ron was without doubt the best pillow he'd ever had—_the best thing ever to grace Draco's bed_.

And it wasn't meant in a sexual way—just that Ron's body was always warm and almost protective, even if it was Draco that draped his arm around Ron's chest, he somehow felt safe—and even though there were definitely some downsides about letting Ron in his bed, most of all, he loved waking up with Ron's scent tainting his nostrils. And that overruled the fact that Ron was a serial blanket hogger.

Draco had just decided that he'd catch up on more sleep, when his cell phone started buzzing—moving on the nightstand, emitting a soft glow—and he groaned. He didn't want to get up.

"What?" he snarled into the small device, refusing to detach himself from Ron completely—the redhead stirred and murmured something incoherently.

"_Aww, you were still sleeping love?"_ Blaise's voice came purring through the phone, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Of course I was still sleeping," next to him Ron opened an eye, staring at him in mild confusion, "as if you would ever be able to call me at a proper time."

"_You're usually such an early bird,"_ Blaise teased, and Ron yawned, opening both eyes to focus on his lover, _"what's got you so tired baby?"_

"What are you insinuating Zabini?" Draco tried to glare at his best friend—as Ron glared at the phone for a different reason.

"_I'm insinuating you had sex,"_ his voice was a mere hoarse drawl, and Ron continued glaring—Draco caught his eye and raised a brow, _what? "Possibly spent all night doing the nasty, and that's why you're too tired to answer my phone calls properly!"_

"I did not have sex," Draco said, in-denial, "I spent the night trying to curse Pothead."

Blaise chuckled, and Ron frowned, hissing: "hang up!"

Draco was rather confused with the development, and he could barely hear Blaise rant about something trivial. He sat up to straddle Ron's hips—the redhead's hands slipping over his thighs—and softly kissed his neck as if to calm him. Blaise faltered.

"_Was that... a kiss noise!"_ he shrieked, and Draco chuckled.

"Blaise, are you dying?"

"_I..._" he paused, and Draco licked up to Ron's chin, _"no."_

"Call back later," Draco flipped the device shut, and threw it back onto his comfortable chair—they vaguely heard a protest before it shut off, and their eyes locked.

Then they were kissing and Draco smirked—feeling Ron's tongue invade his mouth.

"You know jealousy turns me on, right?" he grinned when they separated, and Ron licked his lips.

"And then I'm the one with many weird foibles?" Ron blushed red and entwined his hand with Draco's—the blonde's other one stroking over Ron's tan abdomen.

"How's your hand?" he brushed his thumb over Ron's palm, a deep scar forming there.

"Fine," Ron closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of Draco's fingers on his skin, "come here baby."

Draco considered getting up and dressing, but then decided against it, leaning his bare body into Ron's—even though the blanket was trapped between the redhead's legs, it was still warm enough. Ron ran his hurt hand over Draco's cheek, and it felt slightly odd, like a dent in the otherwise supple skin. Even though his hands were rather rough, it still felt as unjust, that there was now a mark, one that would never leave, stained on the flesh. It made Draco even angrier, to think that the one responsible was _Pothead._

Perhaps even worse, was the fact that it didn't feel _familiar_.

He wove his fingers together with Ron's, and felt the mark with his thumb—Ron's hand twitched on impact, and he kissed Draco's forehead.

"I want breakfast," the blonde said, as if the thought had just popped into his head, still absentmindedly petting the scar.

"Alright," Ron stroked through the blonde's threshes, earned himself a glare, and chuckled, "let's get you breakfast."

Draco smirked and nodded in agreement, stretching his body before moving off Ron's. Ron didn't move though, even as Draco walked to the drawer, sliding a clean pair of briefs over his thighs. When he started combing his hair, and noticed Ron hadn't gotten up yet, he frowned at the redhead in the mirror, getting only the most appreciative glance in return. His eyes roved down the blonde's curvy waist, and halted at his pale lower back, two dimples cutely graced above the band of his underwear.

"You're beautiful," Ron sighed and smiled goofily, tilting his head to the side slightly.

Before Draco could reply, there was a knock on the door.

"Ron?" _Weaslette_ pushed the door open slightly, giving another knock.

Draco set his comb down and turned, leaning back against his dresser as he watched the door in curiosity. Ron blushed and hastily pulled up the blanket to cover his naked groin, trying to will the pink in his cheeks away, and _it's rather cute to watch_.

"It's okay Gin," she peeked into the room cautiously, before entering.

Ginny seemed rather reluctant, and she was blushing just as bad as her brother—her eyes flitting from Draco to Ron and back.

"Is something off?" Ron sat up straight when he saw Ginny, apparently nervous.

"No, it's just..." she smiled, and Draco had a feeling she was slightly embarrassed, "they're having a meeting and there's a new member," she shrugged her shoulders, "I figured maybe you wanted to come down, to see who it is."

"A new member?" Ron grinned, "I'd love to! Any idea who it is?"

Inwardly, Draco chuckled at the excitement in his voice—he'd almost forgotten that Ron was not only a Gryffindor, but also a Weasley—nothing beat old family-curiosity moments.

"No, but they say he's pretty young," she grinned, "and French!"

She gave a wink and smirked at Draco, who was still standing there, half-naked.

"You're coming too, right? Meeting new members is always cool!" Weaslette pressed, leaning against the door.

"Sure," Draco gave a nod, "just give me a minute, I need to get dressed."

Ginny just chuckled, closing the door behind her as she left again. The blush disappeared from Ron's cheeks, and he eyed Draco, the blonde turning to take a pair of jeans from the wardrobe. He shifted in the bed uncomfortably, feeling awkward being there, alone and naked. Ron watched Draco button up his jeans as he tugged his green t-shirt down with his other hand, a strip of his back still showing. When the blonde checked his reflection in the mirror, making sure he was properly dressed, his eyes immediately fell on the dark spot on his collar bone and neck—there was even one under his ear—and he scowled. Ron, on the other hand, admired the marks on the blonde's hips, angry red, from where Ron had held him tight.

"I look like a bloody warzone," Draco tried to hide the hickey in his neck, but the t-shirt wouldn't go up high enough, "you've actually managed to make me ugly," he said with disdain, "it's awful."

"Hey," Ron grumbled, insulted at Draco's petulant tone, "you left hickeys on me too!" he pointed on a rather big one at the side of his shoulder—it even had faint teeth-mark left, indicating that it'd been more than a quick nibble to mark the blonde's territory, "and I don't think anything would manage to make you ugly. They look hot."

Draco frowned at his lover in the mirror, and he got out a t-shirt with a different collar, so at least the one on the junction of his neck and shoulder would be hidden.

"Don't be plain Ronald," Draco shifted the t-shirt until it covered up the bruise, focusing on the job at hand, "it's unbefitting to flaunt with your love-life like that. I appreciate subtle marks of ownership, but this," he eyed the one under his ear with resentment, "is hardly subtle."

Ron rolled his eyes, flopping down on his stomach so he could fish his boxers out from under the bed.

"You're telling me that I'm supposed to try and actually plan where I'm going to kiss you next? Just so no one will know I like marking you as mine?" he uneasily pulled his boxers on, stumbling slightly, and dropped down on the bed again, leaning his head on his hand.

"It would be very much appreciated," Draco faced his lover with a raised eyebrow, "perhaps you haven't notice, but I take special care in making sure I never leave a mark where your shirts can't reach."

Ron poked his teddy and grumbled: "you weren't complaining before. I'm actually supposed to _think_ while we fuck? How the hell does that make sense?"

"It makes me feel cheap, alright!" Draco snapped suddenly, glaring—and Ron was taken aback, staring at him in surprise, "And hideous to booth!"

"I'm sorry baby," Ron bit his lip, getting off the bed—he stroked Draco's side with the fur of his teddy, and saw the grey eyes close momentarily, "it's not hideous, you're beautiful. I'll pay more attention to it next time."

"I didn't mean to..." he averted his eyes, _stop being a bitch,_ "I just don't want anyone to know how you make love to me. Because that's mine and not theirs, and they don't deserve it."

"I never..." he slumped, and Draco could see it on his face,_ he never thought of it like that,_ "you're right, it's something personal. Next time, I'll just mark my favourite place on your body."

Draco chuckled, prodding the teddy bear's stomach.

"If it's my ass, I'm gonna kill you," it felt sore enough as it was—Ron's fingers had left quite some scratches, and his skin there was so sensitive, it was borderline painful.

"Not your ass," Ron smirked, turning his lover back over his drawer—Draco shivered at the gesture of control, chest meeting the polished wood—and ran a hand down his spine, to the skin right above his jeans, "I like the place above your ass best. You have dimples there, and it's incredibly soft."

"The small of my back is your favourite place on my body?" Draco tipped his head to look at his lover's face in the mirror—when he saw him smiling happily, he rolled his eyes again.

"Mhm," Ron wrapped his arms around Draco's torso, and pulled him into a hug, "it's Galvin's favourite too."

"Galvin?" Draco frowned in confusion, then smiled when Ron flattered his head against Draco's shoulder, his unruly red hair tickling his neck.

"The teddy," Ron offered, "he agrees that the small of your back is a very nice place."

"You named your teddy bear after a player of the Chudley Cannons?" the blonde couldn't help but sound malicious, though all he got was a nod, "I cannot believe I fell for you."

Ron pouted, hugging his teddy closer to Draco's body.

"You're probably just with me for the sex," he fake-sniffled, "and of course, you're getting close to me to get to Galvin! But I won't let you!"

"You're crazy," Draco concluded, "it's not the sex, or Galvin. It's your orange boxers. And if you do not get dressed soon, I might just be forced to take them from you freckles, and you surely don't want that!"

Ron let go of his lover, giving him a wink.

"You're an evil man, mister Malfoy," he picked up an abandoned pair of pants, that he'd apparently left there the other day, "I will not let you have these boxers!"

The blonde just grinned and watched him get dressed, all the while clutching his teddy to his side. _Nutters, but all mine._

When Ron had fully dressed, they headed downstairs, but encountered the Weasley children and Granger and Pothead on the landing of the first floor, all hanging over the railing to get a clear shot of the kitchen door. No one even granted the brunette and Golden boy a look—obviously pissed off at the way they'd behaved towards their brother—but Weaslette did frown at Pothead sometimes. His nose had a small cut on it, and his eye was slightly coloured black, from where Draco had hit him that night.

"You look good Ron," Ginny suddenly blinked when she noticed her brother had joined them, and tugged at his shirt, "really nice shi...—holy cows!" her eyes widened and she tugged at the hem of his collar, "what the hell happened, you look like you were attacked by an animal!"

Draco casually diverted his eyes, leaning against the railing. Fred and George both laughed at the blonde, and Ginny's eye fell on him when she noticed their stares, as Ron turned an impressive shade of red.

"You bit him?" she asked incredulous.

"I did not bite him," Draco snapped, he tugged Ron closer, pointing at the mark, "it's not really biting if you don't break skin!"

Ginny scowled and patted her brother's back.

"Mum's gonna go mental when she sees this," she sighed, and frowned when she noticed the spot under Draco's ear, "honestly, you bit him too? Did you guys have some sort of late-night fight?"

"Gin," George smirked, giving his youngest brother a wink, "I don't think fighting is what kept them up all night, was it guys?"

Ron's ears burned red, and he hugged Gavin closer. Draco rolled his eyes and crossed his arms on the railing, staring defiantly at the kitchen door.

"We didn't fight," his voice was cold, but flowed like satin, and he ended with a purr: "they don't even hurt."

The redhead set his teddy on the banister, placing a hand on Draco's hip, where the indents from his fingers had left deft marks.

"And these?" he whispered, close to Draco's ear—Ginny eyed them suspiciously, and Granger stared in disdain, "do these hurt?"

"Hey, they're done!" Ginny suddenly squealed and flew against the railing next to her brother, resuming her earlier position, with perfect view of the door.

Ron made a vague eep sound as Gavin tumbled down from his spot on the balustrade, and Ginny's eyes widened when she caught sight of the Order's latest asset: "he's gorg—"

"Draco?"

The new member of the Order saved Gavin from his fall, freezing the teddy in mid-air—Ginny looked rather impressed by the fast reflexes—and smiled when he recognised the blonde. Draco turned his look from the bear to the man.

Hazel hair, stunning blue eyes, freckle on the left cheek, _Damien._

The two girls blinked when it turned out that mystery man knew the blonde, and even Fred and George looked slightly awed. Damien grinned.

"I thought you were in France?" Draco remarked, not even greeting the man.

"I 'ad to come back," he shrugged his shoulders, guiding the teddy back into Ron's arms with his wand, "I missed you too much."

"I'm flattered," Draco pursed his lips, "of course, Paris doesn't have blondes."

"Not quite like ze Malfoys do," he pocketed his wand again, and the other members of the Order left, giving him a small good-bye or a pat on his back, "where iz your hospitality? I do not get a hug?"

He held his arms open in invitation, a small pout on his handsome face. Draco rolled his eyes but went down the stairs anyway—they didn't exactly hug, the man tried to, but Draco pushed his chest before he could envelope him or hold him too close, not one for easy physical contact.

"I always found it a pity you were not ze hugging type," the man's French accent sounded through, and he settled his hand comfortably on Draco's shoulder,_ though not so comfortable for me,_ "I spoke with Blaise yesterday, are you alright?"

"Don't tell me you heard about my parents' death by Blaise?" Draco chuckled, "he didn't cry, did he?"

"Non, 'e did tell me he missed you like crazy though," Damien leered, sounding rather seductive, "I cannot blame him, you look fine."

His hand slipped down his shoulder to his elbow, and Draco eyed it suspiciously—Damien merely grinned.

"I always found you too intrusive, I would appreciate it if you let go of my arm now," even though he didn't sneer, he sounded resolute enough.

"I am being nice," Damien chuckled, trailing his hand back up to the blonde's shoulder.

"Last time you were nice, Blaise had to kick your ass for sexual harassment," he took the brunette's arm, shaking it off, "is that why you left France?"

"I will 'ave you know you are ze only one to ever complain," Damien smirked, "let me take you out to dinner, it 'as been so long, I would like to catch up."

"I'd rather not," he tipped his head up slightly, his eyes resting on Damien's smirk, which faltered at the answer, "I never really liked you all that much. You're pushy."

Damien studied the blonde closely—Draco felt inclined to step back, but managed to restrain—a small smile still on his face.

"Now this iz fascinating," in a second he'd grasped Draco's chin, tilting it so he could see the lovebite under his ear—Draco tried pulling back, but the brunette's nails dug into his skin, "don't tell me..." he focused on the Weasleys—still standing by the railing on the first floor—and noticed Pothead, the raven flinching under his stare, "'arry Potter?"

Draco laughed, slapping Damien's hand from his face, _but it sounds all wrong, because it's really not funny._

"Of course not, it's the one with the teddy," Ron almost dropped Gavin again when Draco mentioned him and Damien turned to him, scrutinizing him carefully.

"A Weasley? I would've expected someone more..." he scrunched his nose, "refined."

"This coming from the man that finds finesse in grabbing any ass that passes by? Excuse me if I don't trust your better judgement," Draco felt rage bubble up in his throat, and Damien raised an eyebrow.

"What would your father say if he knew that you wer—"

Before he could even blink, Draco had slapped him in his face—the sound of skin on skin resounding through the hallway—and he whimpered, grasping his cheek.

"You're out of line," the blonde squared his shoulders, _show you Malfoy heritage,_ radiating superiority, "do not speak about my father as if you knew him."

Damien flinched at the ice cold tone of his voice.

"I... I am sorry monsieur Malfoy," he gave a bow, "it will not 'appen again."

The blonde nodded, and placed a hand on the older man's shoulder, guiding him closer.

"You don't insult Ronald," he whispered, making sure no one heard him, "or I will personally make sure you pay."

He stepped back, and without another word, went into the kitchen. Remus and Sirius were next to each other, already having breakfast—sitting close without being too suspicious for Molly and the others—and they smiled in greeting.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Damien?" Sirius asked as the blonde sat down next to him—Dumbledore was on the other end of the table, regarding Draco with mild curiosity—giving the grey man a nod, "He seems okay, he worked for your father, didn't he?"

"I don't like him," Draco said bitterly. Ginny was the first to enter the kitchen, and she greeted Dumbledore heartedly, "the only reason I ever put up with him was because Blaise thought he was a good shag."

"That boy is just all about sex, isn't he?" Sirius laughed, scooping some bacon into the blonde's plate.

Ginny sat down in front of him, and the others came in as well.

"He says stuck-up pricks fuck better," Draco shrugged his shoulders, filling a cup with tea.

"Harry m'boy," Dumbledore frowned when he saw Pothead, "what happened to your nose?"

"I ran into Malfoy's fist," Harry said dryly as he sat.

"Draco!" Molly was immediately there to inspect Harry's cheek and nose, giving Draco her typical angry mother-bird pose, "You hit Harry?"

Draco was about to reply when nana Weasley came in, clucking her tongue at Molly.

"Oh don't make such a fuss, the boy's fine," she scolded, "if there'd been anything wrong I would've fixed him myself."

"Cedrella, you were there when this happened?" Molly looked disappointed and angry, as she healed Pothead's black eye.

"I was," she nodded solemnly, keeping a straight face, "Ronald had managed to calm Mister Malfoy, and then Mister Potter... well, I won't repeat his words, but they were both to blame."

"Listen, I'm not going to say who's at fault here," Sirius interfered, "but you're not to just attack one another like that!"

Both of them nodded, avoiding each other's looks, and Molly frowned.

"You've no reason to hit him!" she insisted, pointing a finger at the blonde angrily.

"It's Ron's fault really," Draco snapped, _stupid bitch,_ and Ron gulped, "I wanted to curse him but he wouldn't let me!"

"Mister Malfoy! This is no joking matter!" Molly yelled.

"I surely hope not, because I wasn't joking!" they glared at each other—Ron hopelessly staring at the two of them, as they held a battle of wills—when Remus suddenly made a gagging noise and Sirius scraped his chair back.

"That is _IT_! Moony, go to the bathroom, before you get sick all over the table, I will be right there," the brunette gagged again—Tonks giving him a most-concerned look—and he scattered away, "the three of you," he gave Ron, Draco and _Pothead_ a glare, "come with me, NOW."

_After all he's done..._ Draco found it impossible to disobey. They followed the tall raven, who seemed rather upset, _angrier than I've ever seen him,_ and he led them to the small living room on the first floor. When they were all seated—avoiding each other's looks and sitting uneasily, Ron too afraid to even take Draco's hand into his own for comfort—Sirius locked the door and Draco ventured to ask: "is Remus okay?"

"He's sick, he'll be fine," Sirius answered curtly, regarding the three teens in the room—Ron and Draco were together on a sofa, Harry on the comfortable chair across from them, looking the other way, "we are talking about this, no argument, and you will not leave this room until you're all ready for hugs and kisses," he said sternly, _sounds too much like my dad,_ "because love is not something you fight over, got it?"

He waited until the teens nodded, and then seated himself on the arm of Harry's chair. Draco glanced around the room, _books, old paintings, how many living rooms does this house have?_

"Alright," Sirius inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, "Ron, how 'bout you start."

"With what?" the redhead furrowed his brow—ignoring the look he was sure Harry'd give him, he took Draco's hand anyway.

"Tell us why you're mad with Harry," Sirius pressed, massaging his temple—_he wants to take care of Remus, but feels like he has to stay._

"He..." Ron's ears burned red, "he's not the friend he's supposed to be. He threw a vase at my head, and called Draco a bitch."

"Alright," Sirius nodded—his forehead rumpled in a frown, "Harry?"

"He's my best friend and he's fucking the guy that hates me," Harry said in disbelief, staring at Sirius as if he was an idiot, "_of course_ I'm pissed off!"

"Okay, I understand it may be a bit difficult for you," Sirius placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, trying to temper his anger, "but don't you think, that if Ron's happy, you should give it a try?"

"Hell no!" Harry glared, "This is one of those Malfoy-sleek-tricks and for all we fucking know he poisoned Ron! I don't even know how long they've been going at it!" he focused on Ron now, giving him a foul look, "You've lied to me all this time! And I'm just supposed to stand for it?"

"I fell for him in second year!" Ron snapped back, "You thought he was the heir of Slytherin! How the hell was I supposed to tell you?"

"You—" Sirius cut Harry off before the boy had a chance to rant on.

"Okay, Draco?"

"Oh no," the blonde shook his head, "I'm not getting into this mess. They're both acting like six-year-olds; I want nothing to do with it."

"How's that?" Sirius queried.

"Pothead—" he got a glare from the man and coughed, "_Harry_ seems to think I'm only out to hurt him—the fact that he doesn't want Ronald to get hurt, proves that he cares for him, which means he misses him, even if he now feels betrayed, he doesn't want to lose him," the two ravens stared at him, and Ron squeezed his hand to mush, "Ron is angry with Harry for showing such resentment, because he really wants his approval. He's upset but is too scared to tell him how he feels."

"I agree," Sirius nodded, "you're very right, but... how do _you_ feel, Draco?"

"I..."_ don'ttellhimdon'ttellhimshutup,_ "honestly?"

"It's okay Draco," Sirius encouraged, and Harry looked at him with something of interest, "please, tell us how you feel."

"My parents died," he said, voice cold as ice, but smooth and firm, _justdon'tbreakdown,_ "I don't feel much really. But I try. I try not to cry every two seconds, and I try not to think about it, and granted, yeah, maybe I'm trying to focus on anything but the fact that I have no real family left, but sometimes I'm really happy. But then you had to go and hurt your hand," his eyes fixed on Ron's brown ones, and he could see his own reflection, swirling angry grey, "and you were hurt and just because of that, I was too. It sucks that of all the times I could've chosen to admit that I love you, it has to be now, for I'm so indecisive, because half the time I just really want to hold you and the rest of the time I want to break down and die. And for some extremely marginal reason,"_ I love you so damn much, _"when you're happy, I'm happy too—and I want you to be happy, but not without me."

For a minute it was completely silent as he finished speaking. It was creepy, almost, how void of nose the room was. A portrait snored softly on the background, and he could hear his own pulse, thundering in his ears. Ron seemed almost dazed and Harry looked empty. It was probably the scariest moment of Draco's life.

_The scariest moment? When I came home to a burning building and all I thought was: where has my life gone? Where am I? Who is this person in my body? Where is dad?_

"I'm glad you said that," Sirius broke the awkwardness with a true smile, "because I always feared that you would never admit it to yourself. Not even from the very first minute, when I threw your father's words at you and hoped you'd understand."

It was silent again, and Draco struggled not to yell out for someone to say something else, because it felt really uncomfortable. Then, Ron wiped the hair from Draco's face tenderly, brushing it backwards, and bent forward to grace a kiss on his ear, his breath tickling the blonde. It was short and overly sentimental, but when he pulled back, he didn't let go, instead keeping Draco pressed against him as he rested his head on top of the blonde hair.

Sirius smiled, and his look shifted to Harry, who was admiring the couple with a strange look in his eye—_almost...?_

"Harry?" he squeezed the raven's shoulder in comfort, and Harry frowned.

"How long has it been?" he asked, voice hitching, "How long have you been..."

"About a month," Draco saw Ron doubt, and knew the redhead was trying to count the days since the day in the library.

"A month?" Harry retaliated in disbelief, "You mean to say that when Hermione and I were mocking his garters, you were the one he wore them for?"

Ron's cheeks burned a bright red, but he gave a small nod in confirmation. Harry went still, as if he was processing the retrieved information.

"But..." Harry re-won his vocals, and blinked dumbly, "what about... Zabini?"

"What_ about_ Blaise?" Draco immediately retaliated.

"I figured you were... secretly shagging anyway," Harry shrugged apologetically.

Ron scowled, releasing the blonde's hand—at which Draco rolled his eyes—crossing his arms against his chest defiantly.

"He's my best friend," Draco tugged at the tan hand, folding it back into his own, "we don't shag. I don't love him like that."

Sirius coughed, and Harry jumped—almost as if he'd forgotten the man was there altogether—attracting their attention.

"I really have to check on Moony," he stood, "I'll lock the door—you don't leave until I say you're allowed to."

"But—"

"You can't—"

"SILENCE!" Harry and Ron backed away at the outburst, cowering in fright.

Draco merely frowned, _even though I honestly don't want to be part of their fight_ he didn't think arguing with Sirius at such a time—_worried sick about Remus and rightfully pissed off_—was appropriate.

"You will not leave this room until you're back to being cuddly-and-warm!" he glared viciously, and with a loud BANG, closed the door behind him.

They heard the key turn in the lock and realised Sirius wasn't playing,_ he'll keep us here as long as it takes._

No one said a thing.

Both Ron and Harry avoided each other's looks. For a second Draco feared they were going to be there all day—but then Harry coughed and muttered: "a month's a pretty long time."

"I didn't want to write," Ron grunted, still refusing to meet Harry's stare.

"I meant it as a good thing," when he raised his head, Draco could see dark swirling in his eyes, almost like _he's sorry,_ "I... can understand why you didn't want to write."

"So..." Ron coughed, _even though he really doesn't have to,_ eyes shifting nervously.

"I..." Harry blushed a dark pink, neither knowing what to say.

Silence reigned.

Suddenly the door opened, and Sirius' head peeked in again.

"You made up yet?" Sirius asked curiously—they shook their heads and he frowned, "I see... Draco, can you come with me for a minute?"

"Sure," Draco gave Ron's hand a squeeze, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans and followed Sirius out onto the hallway, "is something wrong?"

"Actually," he locked the door again, assuring the other teens their privacy, "I wanted to ask you a favour. Remus needs some air, but it's still a bit fishy for me to go out in my human form, so I was wondering if you wanted to join us?"

"Of course," he gave a polite nod, "let me get a jacket."

**AN: I was going to update this the day before yesterday, because I was very unhappy then.**

**But then Henry made me all shinny-happy and I didn't bother to update. I apologise for this.**


	20. Going Out and Staying In

20. Going Out and Staying In

**AN: ****I reread this pretty quickly, so sorry if I left any mistakes standing. If I get enough comments that tell me about the mistakes, I'll re-upload a corrected version later.**

**Damien was a one-time-only deal. It was a scene that was stuck in my head, so I wrote it out, but that doesn't mean Damien is of any significance, he was just a means to an end.**

**TO ANIMEBUG: thank you so much for your present 3 I hope you don't mind, I put it on facebook, I was so happy to receive something like that, it was so beautifully done ! It really means a lot to me to get a gift like that, thank you so very much ! Let this be my gift to you then, and I truly hope you enjoy every written word – keep in mind, that these are especially for you !**

He went back up his room—hearing Ron and Harry bickering when he passed the living room—in order to meet up with Sirius again. It felt strange to pass them again now, hearing them fight but not being able to do anything about it.

In all honestly, he wanted them to be okay, really. It wasn't very pleasant, knowing Ron was unhappy—he had no idea what he would do if he were in the redhead's shoes, fighting with his best friend. Then again, he hoped Ron gave the raven a good scolding before forgiving him, because he was an asshole when it came down to it, _and he doesn't deserve to be forgiven that easily._

After he'd taken his jacket and went back down, he left the house with Remus and Sirius. It was rather hectic at first, with Sirius being a hyperactive pup and Remus being a bit less active. Draco entwined his arm with Remus, allowing the man to support on him when necessary, seeing as he was still very pale—Sirius frolicked around them, so that the blonde constantly had to swop the leash to the other hand—and a bit weak.

The fresh air seemed to help him relax, smiling whenever the sun's rays brushed across his face. Draco found it funny, how much the man could enjoy something simple as walking down a street. It wasn't as if he thought Remus was a simple man, but he definitely enjoyed simple things.

By the time they reached the park, Remus was apparently all better again, because he and Sirius started playing catch right away. Draco sat back and watched them run around, Sirius' tail waggling like crazy and Remus' smile brighter than ever. He thought it remarkable that after all this time, two people could still enjoy each other's company like that. They were still so bloody in love, it was almost sick to watch, how two people could be so attached to each other still.

On the other side, it was really comforting.

He sat down on one of the park benches, drawing his knees up to his chest. It was soothing to watch, since he had no other example of long-term relationships that actually worked. His father had never loved his mother, his godfather had never found another lover after Regulus, most marriages in his family had been arranged. _Love_ was something swift, ungraspable, like thin air. It seemed like relationships were bound to fail, somehow, but then, at that moment, he had prove that not all of them failed, because Sirius and Remus had been apart for so long, yet their love hadn't wavered—_not even faltered, flailed_—it was still as strong as ever.

When Remus grew tired of playing, he sat down next to the blonde, watching his lover roll through the grass, panting softly. They talked about the ministry and Sirius' antics, about nana Weasley, werewolf rights, and Blaise. Remus was one of those people that could go on and on about the most boring book, but still make it sound interesting. He was truly unique in the way that, he could talk about whatever he wanted, Draco would still listen. Anything he said, he said with such passion, it was impossible not to listen to his every word. He blushed easily when praised, and when he talked he used his hands a lot, as if his words needed and extra push—_which they don't, because everyone hangs off his lips_.

It wasn't long before Sirius came up to them, hopping up on the bench. He flattered his head against Remus' lap, demanding some attention from the younger man. The brunette chuckled softly and started stroking the dark threshes, weaving his long fingers through. Sirius made a whiney noise in the back of his throat—sounding more like a content howl—ears flattening against his head.

"So," Remus smiled, eyeing Draco, the blonde staring at a small girl that was playing with her brother, "do you want to tell me about Ron?"

"Do you want me to want to tell you about Ron?" he kept his face straight, looking back at the older man.

Padfoot sneezed.

"Yes," Remus chuckled and scratched the dog behind his ear, earning him a lick, "Sirius told me I missed out on quite a lot while I was paying my respects to the toilet."

"Did he now?" Padfoot sneezed again and Draco rolled his eyes,_ seriously, dogs are not supposed to be able to feign innocence,_ "you didn't miss out that much. Ron and Harry just talked about their problem—it was very sensible-healing like."

"And you?" Remus asked.

"I was just there, you know," he shrugged, outstretching his legs, "like one of those small accessories that you get for free when you buy a purse."

Remus laughed, sliding an arm around the blonde's shoulders.

"Oh, you're not an accessory!" he kissed the top of his head,_ and it feels so familiar,_ "you're a whole damn handbag!"

"Why thank you," Draco smirked, "you're quite the handbag yourself Remus."

Remus chuckled, hugging him tighter to his side. Padfoot gave a jaw-cracking yawn and they continued to sit in silence. It was very comfortable that way, Draco noticed—no stress, he could just relax without having to think things through or wonder if it was really _real_. It was so easy.

So damn _easy_.

They stayed in the park most of the morning, and by the time they arrived back home, the living room was empty. He debated whether or not he should go looking for Ron, but then figured that if he was still making up with the raven, it may not be such a good idea, so instead he went back to his own room. It was a complete mess—for some reason, there were clothes strewn everywhere, and his bed was unmade.

Under his father's watchful gaze he began the task at hand. Half the clothes were Ronald's, and he vaguely wondered how the redhead had managed to leave his mark in the room in such a small time. It was unbelievable how he'd managed to sneak in and take over like that, his presence imminent, even when he wasn't there. His scent had drowned into the pillow and sheets, Draco could smell him on his own body and clothes, like he'd never even left to begin with.

It was so friggin' scary but so damn _safe_.

He had just cleaned out his underwear drawer, refolding all boxershorts and briefs, when his cellphone rung.

"Hey," he flopped down onto the bed, making himself comfortable with a hand behind his head, "what's up?"

"_Hey babe_," Blaise purred, into his ear, "_no kissing noises_?"

"Obviously," Draco couldn't help but chuckle.

"_Good_," he sounded fake-jealous, "_baby, I'm having an early-birthday-dinner, you gotta come._"

"An early-birthday-dinner?" Draco laughed again, scratching at his side—hissing softly when he opened one of the wounds Ron had made.

"_Lame way of saying I wanna see you,_" his best friend admitted, "_have dinner with me, please? Tonight?_"

Draco thought about it—_there's a big chance Ron won't like it, but fuck him, 'cause he's off with Pothead anyway_. It seemed unfair that Harry would be let off so easily, when he was a darn bastard.

And Blaise was his best friend—and he really wanted to talk to the boy again, because it had already been awhile.

And he did miss him. It seemed as if here, he was all alone either way. Him against the whole world—and it shouldn't have to be that way. Because he had people, _Blaise_, who cared and who'd give him anything he wanted like _that_.

_Blaise,_ wouldn't even consider ever looking at Harry again, if he dared call Draco a bitch when he was right there next to the blonde. _Blaise_ wouldn't think twice, but kick the boy until he stopped moving—unless Draco told him not to, and then his best friend would listen, not once doubting to follow him, but shout all he want. _Blaise_ would always be there to defend his honour—even when Draco felt like it wasn't necessary.

_Am I seriously angry with him for not... standing up for me?_ Even though he could stand up for himself just as well?

But then again,_ I defended him even when he didn't need me to—it's more out of principle than anything else, because that feels like the right thing to do._

And then they said Slytherins had no moral fibre—_I'm doing a lot better than that lousy redheaded Gryffindor!_

"_Babe_?" the sleek voice of his friend shook him from his thoughts, and he turned to look at the painting of his dad.

_Father liked Blaise. Blaise was a good friend and loves me for who I am, that's __how my father saw him. But—_would he still hate Ronald if he really knew him?

"I'd like that," he decided, smiling softly, "what do you feel like?"

"_I was thinking maybe sushi_," Blaise sounded happy, and the thought that Draco had done that was somehow very nice, "_I haven't had that in a while. Or Italian? I figured we should go to X, there's enough variety there._"

"You're such a snob," _leave it to him to pick out the most expensive restaurant,_ he chortled.

"_It's on me, so I get to be,_" he heard the sound of paper against paper, and Blaise snorted, "_you gotta pick me up though, 'cause there's something I wanna show you, but I don't want to take it from my bedroom in case I lose parts or something._"

"Alright, I'll just ask Sirius is if it's alright and call back, okay?" he yawned and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"_I'll be anxiously awaiting your call love!"_ Blaise said dramatically, adding a girly: "_kisses!"_ before they hung up.

Draco was just about to get up and find aforementioned man, when Ron appeared, giving the door a knock—merely for the sake of being polite—and leaned against the doorframe.

"Hey," he said, acting as if he hadn't just been locked in a room with his former-best-friend.

"Hey," he tried to keep his voice from breaking down, wondering if the redhead's unusual behaviour was something possibly bad—_for me,_ "so, did you guys make up?"

Ron wrapped his arms around himself, furrowing his brows. His shoulders slumped and it was the saddest thing Draco'd seen.

"Not yet," he sighed, looking at the floor, "we're going to the movies tonight."

_How date-like,_ Draco thought, but sneered at himself,_ behave. You want him to be okay._

"That sounds... nice," he did his best to be convincing, and Ron didn't seem to notice anything being off, so apparently he was doing fine.

"Yeah," he gave a nod, "I want you to come."

Draco blinked twice—_what?_—giving an odd sort of laugh, trying to figure out whether or not he was joking. When Ron continued to stare at the ground, Draco's eyebrows rose gracefully.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," he said briskly, giving a wave of his hand, "you have things to talk about, I don't want to—"

"I'm asking you to come," Ron straightened, looking right at him now, disbelief in his voice, "I _want_ you to come."

"Ronald, really," Draco insisted, "it's not a very good idea, you should go with Harry. Besides, Blaise asked me for dinner so it's really not a prob—"

"Oh right," Ron interrupted furiously—his face reddening—and Draco realised,_ damnit, not good,_ "of course, I see!"

"No, Ron, it's not like that," he tried calming the redhead before he got angry, but it was already too late, _I should've known mentioning Blaise would piss him off._

"The hell it's not like that!" Ron slammed the door shut, as if that would assure no one hearing them fight, "that stupid fag gives you one phone call and you're all over him!"

"That's hardly fair," Draco sneered, "he's my best friend! I already told you I don't like him that way!"

"Oh well, that gets me very bloody far if you'd rather go out with him than me!" Ron yelled, and Draco stood, seeing the redhead's hands form angry fists.

"Come on Ronald, that is not true," Draco shook his head, scowling, "I'd love to go out with you but—"

"Fucking prove it," Ron snapped.

"Fine," he crossed his arms, stern, "I'll tell Blaise he should book a table for four."

Ron's anger disappeared as suddenly as it'd come, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Bu—"

"Don't you dare say a thing," Draco took his phone from his bed, giving his lover a look, "it was your idea."

He dialled his friend's number, sitting down again, eyeing Ron from afar. The redhead was rather befuddled by Draco's answer, _he really thought that me and Blaise were going to do something real special, didn't he?_

"_Hey ba—_"

"Blaise, I haven't checked with Sirius yet but I'm sure it'll be okay," he didn't let the raven finish, using his most business-like tone, "Ron and Harry are joining, so it'll be the four of us."

"_Alright..._" the fact that Blaise did not reject at all, told Draco that he could sense what was happening—_and it's the reason he's my friend to begin with._

"Ron?" the door opened, and Harry's head popped in, a broad smile as he spotted the redhead, "Ginny and Hermione are coming along, I hope that's okay!"

"Wait, Blaise, make that six."

Harry blinked and Ron bit his lip—all Draco did was pretend to chuckle when Blaise insisted they had a weird orgy planned, _just pretend this will be fine, and then, maybe, miraculously, it will be._

They hadn't talked for four hours, forty-seven minutes and approximately nineteen seconds, not that Draco had been counting, _of course_.

They had just had lunch and had gone back up to Draco's room, sitting there in odd silence as they both pretended to be doing important things. Ron was making a list of which ingredients he had to buy for his potion's kit—as his mother had told him to do—as Draco pretended to write his godfather. The truth was that all he had was, '_Dear Severus_' and after that he'd repeated one name, over and over again, unconsciously, pretending to be writing about Grimmauld and his experiences. When he realised he'd written _'Ron_' all over the parchment, he'd glared and crumbled it up into a ball, before tossing it back into the bin. When he'd noticed that Ron had been watching him, he knew the redhead thought he was frustrated because he didn't know how to tell his godfather what was going on, sorry on his face, and _I want to tell him it's fine but it's not._

When he looked up and saw that it was almost five, he screwed the cap back onto his ink bottle. He set down his quill and stretched before folding his parchment neatly, placing it back into his drawer with his writing utensils. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched languidly, and turned around, facing Ron.

The redhead was still on the bed, his potion's kit next to him. As soon as he saw that Draco had turned though, he looked up, hoping they'd stop not-talking.

Instead of talking, Draco stood and went over to his wardrobe—he wanted to look as good as he possibly could for his lover, without being over top—even though the silence was awkward, even to him, he still didn't feel like being the one to break it._ Ron had insinuated I like Blaise better, it's his fault anyway!_

"So, erm..." Ron looked at his feet, trying to hide the fact that he'd been staring at the blonde not a minute before, "this place we're going, is it... expen—"

"Don't worry about that," Draco took his fancy black slacks off the coat hanger, and lay them down on the bed, next to Ron, "it's on Blaise, since he invited us, he thought it only proper to pay."

"Right," he still sounded a bit wary, "so... what kinda place is it? What should I wear?"

When Draco looked at him, he was blushing, and it was nice to realise that_ he really wants to make this right._ He smiled softly, walking back to take his white shirt.

"Something that fits, preferably," when he lay his dress-shirt on his trousers, he tugged Ron's jeans, to prove his point.

The jeans barely reached Ron's ankles, looking ridiculously short—_really, how I fell for someone with no sense of styling... no clue._ Ron scowled and crossed his arms, offended. All Draco did was chortle, picking up one of the bags from when they went shopping the other day.

"Don't worry freckles," he teased his sulking lover, "I'll help you dress, but first," he perched himself over the redhead's lap, legs on either side of the broad body, "I should help you..." he kissed Ron's neck and felt his hands slide down his back to his hips, "_un_dress."

Ron nodded in agreement, and Draco smirked, tilting his head to kiss his lips.

When they had managed to dress completely—Draco had no problem dressing himself, black tuxedo and white shirt, first buttons let undone, and had helped Ron into dark jeans and a crisp black waistcoat to go with his button-down—and made their way downstairs, the three others were already waiting for them. Sirius was there too, wanting to say goodbye; before they had a chance to do just that, he took the blonde aside.

"Take good care of yourself," he whispered, pulling Draco into an odd sort of hug—_he's too worried_—tight, and reluctant to let go, "when anything even _seems_ odd, you call for me immediately, understood?"

He nodded, and gave the man a smile to reassure him—it was going to be okay, he'd be perfectly safe—giving his shoulder a pat.

Draco had to admit, Pothead and Granger were definitely trying. They had both dressed up, like Ginny, and were trying to talk with their ex-best-friend as if nothing had gone wrong between them. Ron seemed less easy to persuade though, and Draco knew it was because he still hadn't forgiven Harry for the things he'd said—still, it seemed easy for him too, to fall back into place. For the briefest of moments, Draco feared,_ I've lost him,_ but when he joined their little group, Ron entwined their hands, pulling him into his side.

"Should we wait for Blaise?" Ginny asked, making puppy-dog eyes at the move her brother made—Granger resolutely turned to other way.

"We're going to pick him up," Draco tried not to sneer, really, _you have no beef with the Weaslette,_ and he figured he was doing a good job when her smile widened.

They flooed together—all of them barely fitting into the fireplace—to make sure none of them got side-tracked. Not a second later they arrived in the antechamber of the Zabini mansion, and Draco could hear the others make small sounds of awe.

Every single piece of furniture in the house was possibly worth more than the whole of the Weasley fortune, Draco was sure, since misses Zabini had very expensive taste. The room itself was disturbingly empty though, besides the excessively decorated vases and wide leather sofas.

"Blaise!" Draco called, knowing his friend's mother was out of town at the moment, so he didn't need to worry about what she may think of his behaviour—Ron's hand squeezed his as if he needed comforting, and Draco squeezed back, "Zabini, where are you!"

"Mister Malfoy," the door opened suddenly, and Granger squeaked in surprise. A young man, dressed in respective butler-attire, checked his pocket-watch and gave Draco a smile, "Mister Zabini would like to invite you to his room. Your guests are welcome to join."

"They have a butler?" Ginny whispered, as if the boy wouldn't hear her.

"Misses Zabini finds house-elves to be a nuisance," the butler said with a smile, guiding them into the grand hallway, "they once almost broke the master's chandelier, and have been banned ever since."

He indicated the gold-set chandelier and led them up the marble staircase. Draco had been there before, but he walked slowly enough, so the others could take a moment to regard the luxury with which the house had been decorated. Only Ron paid no mind to his surroundings, so Draco noticed—instead the redhead was looking at him the entire time, as if intent on catching him on any illicit feeling, or even a smile.

"Stop doing that," Draco hissed, sending him a glare, "I love you, be nice to my friend."

Ron blushed at the words, but stopped looking at him so intently. Granger commented on one of the paintings, since she'd read about the artist, and the butler politely entertained her with his own knowledge, as a decent butler ought to do. Pothead walked next to them, determined to not leave Ron's sight until they had talked properly._ In a fucked up way, this is all pretty damn funny right here._

"Excuse me sir," the butler stopped suddenly when they reached a new hallway, one leading straight on, the other arching to the left, "I have been ordered not to go any further. I assume you know the way?"

"Yes, thank you," he waited for the butler to bow, before giving a wave of his hand, "Blaise's bedroom's this way."

"You've been here often?" Granger feigned interest, and by the hesitant tone she used, Draco figured this was her way of setting off Ron—it worked pretty well too, the redhead's hand twitching in Draco's paler one.

"We've been best friends since we were kids, of course I've been here often," he caught Weaslette's teasing look and rolled his eyes, "Blaise always let me have the bed, while he sleeps on the sofa."

"BABY!" aforementioned best friend called from his bedroom at the end of the hall, "FINALLY!"

His head popped out of one of the rooms, handsome dark face contorted in a smirk. Once more, Ron's hand tightened around Draco's, and Draco squeezed back in comfort, _I'm not letting go._

They continued their way to the bedroom, and he met them halfway, his chest naked as he was only wearing black slacks—he lay an arm around Draco's neck, and brought their faces together in an Eskimo kiss, rubbing his dark nose against Draco's pale one—Draco could practically _feel_ Ron fume, but for one second it didn't matter, because Blaise was just very affectionate that way.

"Ah, mi amor, I missed you," he smiled softly and Draco knew he meant it, "you had better been treating him right!" at this he smirked at Ron—his ears turned a bright red, "I gotta show you something, come on!"

All of them followed Blaise into his bedroom—Ginny sighed wistfully upon entering, and Draco could hear Granger think how it was possible that the boy's mother hadn't found out about his homosexuality.

Not that his room was particularly gay, but it reflected something you'd think of seeing in a brothel—soft pastel colours, but curtains draping around the bed and old gold-rimmed mirrors on the ceiling. He had an old dressing table where his mother used to store her make-up, with the exact seat his mother used to carefully study herself in the mirror before a date. He had a walk-in closet, but, what was perhaps gayest of all, was the naked boy asleep in his bed.

From the corner of his eye, Draco could see Ginny swoon at the sight—Granger looked more appalled than anything, and retreated, rather waiting outside the room. It was obviously Leonardo, the tattoo on his lower back contrasting against his skin. The silk blankets had slipped off his body and he was hugging a pillow under his body, eyes closed in bliss.

"Holgazán," Blaise scolded, poking the raven's naked side with his socked foot—Leonardo grumbled but didn't move, "he's been out ever since round three—terrible waste, that one!"

Harry's eyes widened and he blinked stupidly as Blaise crawled onto the bed, poking him once more.

"Baby, I need to know where you threw my shirt," he cooed, as if that would help the situation, "mango?"

"Blaise," Leonardo groaned tiredly, blushing softly, "I told you not to call me that."

"Pero, I like it when you blush baby," he smirked, "where did you say my shirt went?"

"This one?" Draco picked up a clean dress shirt, which had been tossed over a lamp on the other side of the room—Blaise turned to him and grinned.

"Yeah, thanks love," he gave the tired raven a slap on his ass, making him squeal, "you're gonna miss your friend if you plan on staying in bed all night."

"Bastardo!" he cursed under his breath, and buried his head back in the pillow, ignoring the older boy and the others—before long he was back asleep.

Harry watched the whole scene with mild curiosity, as Ginny unabashedly ogled the naked boy on the bed some more—Blaise didn't notice, dressing himself properly in front of the mirror. For a moment, it seemed as if Harry was going to speak, but he then decided against it, figuring he could always ask later, over dinner. Ron let go of Draco's hand rather abruptly, but it was only so he could wrap an arm around his slim waist, and somehow,_ it feels like home._

"Oh, baby, you gotta see this," Blaise did his tie and beckoned Draco over to his desk—a cardboard box was toppled over, spilling its contents, "I found it when I was looking for the jeans you gave me last Christmas."

"You still wear the jeans I got you last Christmas?" Draco's brows rose gracefully.

"I'm not fat!" Blaise squeaked, objecting—he glared, but when Draco continued looking at him, stern, he pouted, "I squeezed."

"Thought so," Draco smirked and Blaise glared again.

"Well fuck you, you like fat!" he huffed and Ron's eyes widened.

"Ron is not fat!" Draco poked the redhead's chest, indicating the span of it, "He's broad! There's a difference!"

"No there ain't!" Blaise stuck his tongue out and Ron scowled, cheeks turning a bright red.

"You're just jealous of his perfection," Draco's eyes blazed dangerously and he wrapped his arms around his lover, cuddling into his side—Ron adjusted his arm more comfortable around him, and Draco could see him smile cutely—Ginny chuckled, "because the only thing fat in this room is your ass!"

"It's not that fat!" Blaise pouted and turned resolutely to the desk, rubbing his ass as if to reassure it, "it's nice."

He started flipping through the papers on his desk, handing one to Draco as he continued to mumble to himself—Draco was amazed to find that they were photographs—the one he'd handed him one of his very own holiday pictures.

"Blaise, where did you get this?" he looked at the image of himself—he was standing in the middle of a desert, holding his sunglasses as the wind blew hard, making his clothes rumple, and he was holding a big jar of...

"You're holding sand?" Ron chortled, and Ginny came up to watch as well.

"I got them off your dad," Blaise continued sifting through the pictures, "I had to beg him on my bare knees!"

"Saqquara sand," Ginny grinned, remembering the conversation with the boy in Draco's bedroom some time ago.

"How do you know?" Ron frowned at his sister, as Draco was handed another picture.

His dad and he were sitting by a pool, their backs showing. They were both wearing black swim trunks, Lucius was taller, with his long hair pooling down on the tiles, while Draco's was short. There was a big jug of clear blue water between them.

"Oh, you didn't tell him," Weaslette smirked evilly, "it's so cute!"

"What is?" Ron frowned, his brows knitting together with his ruddy hair.

"Your sister is just being her annoying self," Draco gave her a look that clearly said 'shut up!' "Why would you want these?"

"It's for your birthday present so I'm not telling," Blaise gave a victory yelp, "AHA! This is what I wanted to show you babe—I made these when we came back from Hogwarts last year, I had some pictures left on the old muggle camera and I got lucky enough," he handed Draco a single picture, "cause when I got them developed, it turned out I shot this."

Draco heart stopped still when he saw the picture.

_Dad?_

Lucius was standing on Platform 9 and ¾, waiting for the train to arrive. His hair was tied back with a green ribbon, and in the picture, he was the only clear person, everyone else blurry around him. Blaise had caught him just as he was smiling, and even though he wasn't looking right at the camera, it was obvious he was pleased to see the train, one hand up to catch a stray lock of hair behind his ear. He was holding a squared present, green wrapping and silver linings, and Draco immediately remembered that day. His father always made it a point to give him some sort of welcome-back gift—this time, he'd gotten a new suit, all-in with waistcoat, corsage and bowtie. Draco knew his father had searched long to find something he'd like for sure, and just the thought of Lucius, spending that much time on him made him smile. His hand trembled heavily, and Ron grasped it to still his nerves.

"Dray?" Blaise sounded concerned—Draco felt Ron's arm tighten around his hip.

He took a deep breath, hoping, praying to any God that would listen that he would not break down. Instead, he gave a trade-mark Malfoy grin, flashing his teeth, but _it's so fake_.

"I seriously think you should stop pining over my dad's ass, he's dead, get over it."

Blaise laughed rather girlishly, face splitting into a wide grin—he was obviously relieved—and he took the picture, tucking it safely into the blonde's front pocket.

"It's not his ass I want, it're other parts that come attached to it," he winked, Draco rolling his eyes in return.

Blaise put all his pictures back into the boxes, jumping onto the bed one last time to kiss his lover goodbye. He pecked the boy's tattoo, murmuring something in his ear before gesturing the other teens out the room. As he locked the door, he called: "the key is under the vase on the windowsill, don't let my mother catch you naked in my bed mango."

They heard a growl and Leonardo hurled a pillow at the door—which Blaise professionally dodged, shutting the door. With Ron's arm still around his waist, Draco followed his best friend back the way they'd come—Hermione begrudgingly joining the group—Weaslette catching up to walk beside the three of them.

"Ah, I meant to ask," Blaise pocketed his wallet, tugging his vest straight, "how did you like the new butler? Did he treat you guys right?"

"Did he treat us right?" Ginny giggled, "Why wouldn't he?"

"No reason," he shrugged his shoulders, "I promised mother I would help her—she's still trying him out, you see."

"You're making it sound as if they're..." Ron gave a meaningful look, "you know..."

"As if they're fucking?" Blaise enquired, "Because they are, actually. My mother likes a little something on the side."

"Sound familiar," Draco inwardly chuckled at his redhead's grumbled reply—try as he may, _he still doesn't know whether to like Blaise or despise him._

"I'll have you know, Mister Weasley," began Blaise, pointing a finger playfully at the tall redhead, "that I've never before shagged an employee of the house! Besides, Leonardo doesn't actually count, because Leonardo is spe—" he paused, eyes widening, "mother!"

Just as they reached the grand marble staircase, Miss Zabini had arrived home. She was standing in the hallway, short, black curls framing her face, her red lipstick contrasting with her dark skin. She was tugging a leather glove off her hand, finger by finger, while the butler took her expensive fur coat.

"Darling!" the two greeted with three kisses to the cheek, pecks that would seem most-affectionate to anyone else, but were only common courtesy between them.

"I was not expecting you back so soon mother," Blaise gave a small bow, broad smile plastered to his face, "nothing bad happened, I hope."

"You know how that goes, I grew bored sweetheart," she cupped his cheek and held him at arm's-length eyes trailing down his body, "you look exceedingly handsome tonight," her look spoke of approval and she turned it on Draco—Ron's hand had tightened in panic, and Weaslette looked curious at the arrival of his best friend's mother, Potter and Granger trying to blend in with the scenery, praying to be overlooked, "as do you, Mister Malfoy. Tragedy becomes you."

"Thank you Miss Zabini," Draco too, bowed, trying his best to smile, if only slightly.

"Who are your friends? A Potter, two Weasleys," if she noticed the blonde's entwined hand, she was good at pretending not to—he figured she was probably afraid of mentioning it, _after all, Malfoys are superior_, "and..." she frowned when she saw Granger, "I'm sorry, I can't seem to recall which family you belong to."

She smiled apologetically, and Blaise and Draco shared a look—before Granger could mess it all up and tell the older woman her name, Draco interrupted: "she's a Weasley as well, Miss Zabini, we dyed her hair yesterday."

"I never knew the Weasleys had two daughters," Blaise's mother brushed her dark hair from her face, scrutinizing glare focused on Hermione, "then again, there are so many of them!" she laughed to herself, giving her son a thwack with her glove playfully, "you be good to mister Malfoy's friends," she waltzed over to the kitchen, giving a wave as she disappeared again, "ta-ta!"

"Why would you lie about that?" Weaslette asked when she was out of sight, whispering.

"My mother wouldn't appreciate it if I let a muggle-born in the house," Blaise replied simply, and just like that, the matter was dropped.

There was a car waiting for them on the driveway and they all fit in easily, sliding onto the backseats. The driver greeted Blaise heartedly and they started a conversation in hasty Spanish, the man guiding them through the traffic. Besides Draco, everyone seemed a bit uncomfortable in the luxurious car, though Draco thought it may also have something to do with the fact that they were out on a stroll with two Slytherins.

Ron was as affectionate as always, and had placed his hand firmly between Draco's thighs, stroking him softly with his head leaned against his shoulder. His red hair tickled against Draco's cheek when he moved, but he was rather comfortable like that, and wrapped and arm around Ron's torso. Granger and Pothead were afraid to talk at first, Harry's eyes fixed firmly on his best friend, as Weaslette played with her dress in silence.

It was awkward.

Blaise noticed too, how Pothead and Granger tried to coax Ron into a conversation, but how the redhead was a bit brisk about it. He was still angry, and Draco knew he really just wanted Harry to apologise, so they could move on. Blaise turned to their group properly, and tried getting a conversation started himself, doing his best to chase the awkward away. Weaslette and Pothead were overenthusiastic, glad to grab a chance to have a decent conversation—Pothead obviously hoping Ron would join—but still, Ron just turned to look out of the window.

"Hey," suddenly Blaise grasped Ron's hand—Ron turned in shock, trying to measure the raven's intentions—smirking at the leather bracelet, "now where have I seen that before? Dray, that's just too cute!"

Ron frowned, puzzled, and Weaslette nodded: "I thought it was adorable!"

"What was?" Ron asked, and Draco gave the two a glare.

"Oh, he really doesn't know?" Blaise made goo-goo eyes.

"Know what?" Ron sounded slightly agitated and pressured, looking from Blaise to Ginny to Draco and back to Blaise.

"It's not important," Draco snapped—shooting fire at his best friend with his eyes.

Blaise bit his lip, trying to repress a grin, and then said in his serious voice, grin sounding through: "Draco's right, it's not important."

"You're just saying that because you know!" Ron objected, the tips of his ears burning.

"Ron, it's not important," Draco said resolutely, setting his hand on the redhead's wrist, the boy's thumb stroking small spheres on his thigh, "if you still remember tonight, I'll tell you, but you won't because it's of no importance."

"I'll keep you to that," Ron grumbled grumpily—Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but instead he pecked him in the corner of his mouth, nodding.

It took ten more minutes to reach the restaurant, the car stopping by the curb. When they got out, Weaslette gasped—they seemed to be in a normal muggle neighbourhood, though the bouncer at the restaurant was carrying a wand—there was a long queue waiting outside to be seated, running all the way to the corner.

"Damn, all these people," Harry sighed wistfully, and Ron started moving towards the back on the queue when Draco stopped him.

"What're you doing?" he asked with a frown, pulling him towards the entrance of the restaurant, Blaise following close behind—the others gave the line a look, but followed the two Slytherins anyway.

"Waiting in line," Ron frowned, pointing at all the people—they were given a few displeased looks, and the redhead wanted to apologise, but refrained when he saw his lover's stern glare.

"We never wait in line," the blonde explained, a bit exasperated, "it takes too long."

"But then how—" Harry was cut off when they were greeted by a man by the front door—leading them into the restaurant.

"Mister Malfoy," a waiter came up to seat them, leading them through the crowded place, "Mister Zabini, please, this way."

When they were shown their table, the man gave them a bow and left again, taking a mental note of what they wanted to drink. Draco sat in between Ron and Blaise, facing Harry, with Ginny in front of Ron and Hermione in front of Blaise—she didn't seem to happy about that, but Draco couldn't really care.

All in all, everything went pretty well. They talked—Ron took a while to get used to Blaise there, talking about anything from lip rings to taxes, coaxing his usually regal lover into joining conversations about sex—rather pleasantly, everyone joining in, though Ginny and Harry were definitely most willing. Granger stayed quiet most of the time, every now and then adding a little bit to the conversation, until she had a fierce discussion with Blaise about house-elves, and Draco had never been so happy the dark male was his best friend—he literally talked her under the table with statistics and experiences proving that most house-elves were absolutely delighted to work with a family, as it was their biggest joy.

The food was fantastic, and besides an occasional stranger coming up to ask Pothead's autograph, or a family friend coming up to make small talk with Draco, it appeared it was going to be an uneventful night—Draco hoped that by the time they got home from the movies, Pothead would be ready for hugs and kisses, _as Sirius puts it,_ and their idiotic fight would be over, _and maybe sleeping alone in the bed isn't so appealing, but at least then Ron will be okay._

They were half-way through their main course when suddenly Blaise elbowed Draco and inquired: "so, you guys are all friends now? When did that happen, I thought he called you a bitch?" He indicated Harry—giving the boy a look of disapproval that caused him to blush—reaching for his wineglass before turning back to Draco in question, adding with a little sadistic smile: "Did you make him beg for forgiveness?"

"Actually, he—" Draco paused to think how he could tell Blaise without lying, _because that's just something you don't do,_ "I mean...—"

"He didn't apologise?" Blaise looked down-right insulted, his eyes widening—he set his glass down with a great 'clunk' when Draco just casted his eyes downwards,_ I cannot..._ "We're at the same table with that bloody bastard when he hasn't even fucking apologised?"

"Blaise, it's not—" he saw Ron bite his lip from the corner of his eye, and tried soothing Blaise by grasping his hand.

Instead, Blaise pulled back and stood, throwing his napkin on the table. It was a rather definite gesture, and he stormed out of the restaurant without another word.

"Blaise, wait!" Draco swore under his breath and followed his best friend,_ and fuck it if I run over a stupid waiter on the way because Blaise matters._

"Damnit Blaise!" he burst out of the restaurant—the heads of the people waiting in line turning—after his friend, "Stop, please!"

He heard his own voice croak and Blaise stopped still immediately,_ plead and it breaks him,_ fists trembling in anger.

"What!" Blaise yelled, obviously upset and angry—his cheeks reddening with suppressed malice—as he glared over his shoulder, "I cannot believe you were gonna make me sit through an entire dinner with that wanker and what the fuck for?" he sneered and stomped his foot, _he sounds so desperate, how can I fix you?_ "I get that you want to please your redhead, but for fuck's sake Drake, the guy insulted you and didn't even have the guts to apologise," Draco could see Ron and Harry coming from the restaurant as well, pausing behind him when they heard Blaise's plea, "you know what the worst part is though baby," it sounded cruel and hurt and disbelieving at the same time, and it made Draco want to fall to his knees and cry his eyes out because _this is not supposed to happen_, "you're giving up all these nice things, your fucking pride, your whole damn body, to a guy that won't even fucking stand up for you."

He sneered at Ron and shook his head in disbelief—before either Ron or Draco could say something though, Harry interrupted, whispering a hardly hushed: "see mate, I told you that Malfoy-bitch was gonna run off with his fag-friend!" to his former best-comrade.

It all happened fast then: Draco could see Blaise's fist balling as he stormed at the other raven, and barely managed to stop him from taking a swing at Pothead. Harry staggered backwards slightly in shock, and when Draco heard a snap and a yelp, he turned in surprise—fast enough to cause whiplash—and realised that while he was sustaining Blaise, Ron had let his anger run freely, possibly breaking Harry's nose or jaw in the process.

"Ron!" when the redhead lashed out again, Draco wrapped his arms around his chest, stopping him before he could hit his friend a second time.

"No!" Ron snapped angrily, glaring at Harry while the boy stumbled to get up—Blaise came standing next to them, and it seemed he and Ron had finely found something to agree on: that hitting Harry was a good idea, "You said you wanted to apologise!"

Pothead scrambled back to his feet, holding up his hands in defeat—when he opened his mouth to speak, Ron cut him off: "the only damn reason I came here to begin with was because you were gonna apologise," he shook his head in disbelief, "I can't believe I fell for that!"

"It just slipped!" Harry tried to calm the angered redhead, voice desperate, but not cutting edge.

"Yeah, well so did my fist!" Draco felt Ron's muscles relax in his embrace, and pressed his chest closer to the wide back to soothe him further.

"Will you both just stop it," he grabbed Blaise's arm when he cracked his knuckles threateningly, both broader boys still glaring at Harry, "I'm trying my best to be polite for your sake, and you two keep messing it up!"

"No Drake, he's right," Ron gave a nod of his head at Blaise, indicating the Slytherin, "I should've made him apologise right away, it wasn't right of me."

"Ron, it doesn't matter," he tried to persuade his lover, knowing there was no saying what Ron would do when he was angry like this—ears burning up but face pale, "Let's just go back inside and forget this whole thing."

And he couldn't believe he was actually offering that, but he just wanted it to be _over_.

"No," Ron sounded so resolute, it actually frightened Draco—it capriciously reminded him of when Ron had captured him between a rack of books and his own body, like there was nowhere he could possibly go, because Ron would find him, _a golden cage_, "you will apologise _now_," his stare was still focused on Harry, though it softened, a strange determination set there, "or we're no longer friends—and then I won't care what Sirius has to say about the matter because if you don't apologise _now_, we're not being cuddly-and-warm later!"

Harry nursed his nose in a hand, whipping the gravel off his jacket with the other—the people in the queue were staring at them in amazement, whispering excitedly—for the first time is his life Draco was actually relieved to be a Malfoy, as the bouncer was regarding them from afar, ready to interfere if Draco as much as signalled his way.

"I—" Harry coughed, scraping his throat,_ probably doesn't want to, but doesn't have a choice,_ "I'm sorry..."

He averted his eyes, swallowing thickly—Ron frowned, and Draco knew the redhead wanted to push Harry to say something else, but the raven actually beat him to it, and continued: "I didn't... I didn't mean to say that thing I did about your parents in the kitchen the other night," Ron seemed surprised, to say the least, as he hadn't known what it was Harry had said, "I was just angry and saying that because I knew it would hurt you... it was cruel and I didn't mean it..." he raised his look, and it actually sounded_ genuine,_ "I _am_ sorry."

Draco nodded, wishing to say something to relieve the odd tension—but luckily he could always count on Ron to take care of that, and the redhead did so by enveloping his renewed-best-friend in a bear hug, _typically sentimental Ronald._

Blaise came standing next to the blonde, both regarding the hugging friends in peace, watching Harry's face split into a wide grin and their arms awkwardly petting each other on the back.

"So this's cuddly-and-warm éh?" Blaise remarked pensively, "Must be one of those weird heterosexual things."

All Draco could do was chuckle, because _even if it hurts, at least Ron is okay again._

**AN: Just to get it straight; Blaise does not call Leonardo 'piece of fruit'. Mango in Spanish is something like 'sexy', you know, like 'oh my sexy, you yummy hunk of manliness!' I can imagine Leonardo is the kind of person that would blush when the boy he has a crush on calls him 'sexy'. It seemed cute at the time, so shoot me! Also... I'm not under the impression that Blaise is Spanish – I actually think he's Italian – but Leonardo is (I made him, he gets to be Spanish) and since the whole boy's family practically works for the Zabinis, I figured it'd be nice if Blaise could speak Spanish as well. To give orders and such – (and talk dirty in Spanish, but you're not supposed to know) – so that's why he speaks Spanish with the driver.**

**ALSO ! : I am not saying the things Blaise owns are gay. Just that he is.**

**I had the scariest vision EVER ! When they're in the park and Draco goes: "Why thank you, you're quite the handbag yourself Remus." I imagined they'd share a so-happy-I-could-pee moment and Remus'd say: "call me papa!" and they'd hug and... wow. I think I puked in my mouth a little.**


	21. Touch and Talk

21. Touch and Talk

**AN: Nana was beginning to feel a little left out. She's still there of course, but she's leaving by the end of chapter 23. Not because she's staying all these days, just that describing one day takes two chapters, apparently. I know I haven't mentioned her in a while, but she has been there all the time ^-^**

**WARNING: a scene is rated M.**

**MY SPECIAL THANKS GO TO: ANIMEBUG, because you're just the nicest person I have ever met. Sweet and kind and whatnot, and just basically 3 I'm honoured to have you as my reader !**

**I ALSO WELCOME: all the new readers who've just joined us (and there's quite a lot of them) hope you have****fun reading this!**

**TO SirTheoWolfy: You are epic. And I get to say this, because I am me, and therefore I will say that you are epic ^-^ I'm glad to have you as a new reader !**

Spellchecker's Note: I would just like to thank Crazy4Moony for allowing me to spellcheck this chapter (thereby seeing it sooner :3), and I would like to tell her that she should stop being so modest! - You're a fantastic writer, so just.. live with it! :D

**AND THANK YOU, Alaie! And you guys should thank her too, if it wasn't for her, it would've taken another couple of days for me to update this :D Since well, I was lazy, and too engrossed in writing the next chapters XP hehe. Thank you very much ^-^ This one's for you !**

"Good, you're back," Ginny sounded remarkably relieved by the time they arrived back at their seats—Harry's nose cleanly mended by the bouncer outside—a concerned look on her face, "I was just about to go out and see if you'd really taken off!"

"Yes," Granger pursed her lips when she saw her two best friends smiling—knowing that now it was no longer okay for her to act like a bitch towards the blonde, "We didn't want to run off as well, in case the waiter thought we were leaving without paying first."

"Tough luck with that, I paid in advance," Blaise smirked and sat back down, acting as if he had just been in need of a bathroom break—_as if he didn't run off all angry and upset,_ "So, what's all that about the movies?"

Ginny animatedly began talking about their trip after dinner, and Ron entwined his hand with Draco's under the table, smiling when Harry gave him a wink. And yeah, it was weird, _but it'll be alright._

Eventually they ended back up at Grimmauld Place—Ginny slightly intoxicated from all the wine she'd had over dinner—Granger shushing them as they entered the darkened hallway. Draco had half-expected Molly to be waiting for them, angrily tapping her foot, but when she did not suddenly appear out of nowhere in the dark hall, he figured Sirius had probably warned her that they were alright. The man had texted him when it had passed ten and they still had not arrived home, but the movie had been much longer than either of them had anticipated.

Pothead—_Harry_—nearly tripped over the seam of the carpet on his way in, Weaslette catching him in time with a drunk giggle. Granger rolled her eyes and took her friend by the arm, dragging her up the stairs without a second glance—though she did actually throw a dirty look at Draco over her shoulder when she thought he wouldn't notice—the younger girl giggling a goodnight.

Slowly, they made their way upstairs as well, Ron and Harry talking quietly, the redhead's fingers looped in Draco's belt. Draco listened only partly, his thoughts straying constantly from the subject, —they were discussing Quidditch players—to his father or Blaise or Sirius. Well at least he stayed within the category;_ guys that like themselves some good hard wood._

"So…" They stopped when they reached Harry's bedroom—_formerly Harry and Ron's bedroom_—and Harry gave a nervous cough.

Ron fidgeted with his sweater, avoiding his friend's stare, and Draco knew_ he's not sure it's okay yet._

"So..." Ron repeated—he was chewing his lip anxiously to release some of the tension he was feeling—and then he gave a weird sort of wave, and said: "goodnight!"

Before Harry could even reply, _or protest,_ Ron pulled Draco with him to the end of the hall, leaving Harry behind.

Draco tried not to notice how utterly disappointed Harry looked—well, he tried not to be _satisfied_ when he saw how disappointed Harry looked—and paused the redhead when they had turned the corner.

"Ron, are you sure you wouldn't rather—" he began, but was silenced when Ron gently forced him into the wall and kissed him.

He was surprised at the sudden action—Ron's hand cushioning his head from the wall, their bodies suddenly so close—and gasped, before his eyes slipped shut and he kissed back. It was short though, and Ron pulled away all-too-soon, tugging Draco down the hall before stopping again and repeating the action—attaching their lips and coaxing the blonde's mouth open—though this time Draco was prepared. He grasped at the black waistcoat, meshing Ron's chest against his own, the touch of tan skin sending a shiver up his spine when his fingertips brushed past it.

Sloppily, they moved towards Draco's bedroom—nipping and grabbing all the while—pausing every couple of steps to lean against the wall and enjoy some more intense snoggage.

Ron moaned into the kiss when one of Draco's hands tangled into his hair, the other creeping up under the white shirt. Their lips separated, Draco's up in a smirk, and their eyes met—_so, so hot_. He made quick work of Ron's waistcoat, and was dragged to his own door, before he was pushed against it, the reddened lips locking once more with his own.

They managed to get inside Draco's bedroom without too much of a hassle, Draco closing the door hastily with his hip—their bodies detaching momentarily—his lips still biting at Ron's hungrily, while the redhead nearly ripped the pristine dress-shirt in his haste to get it off. He was pulled back into his lover's arms, the boy looping his fingers into Draco slacks, capturing him once more,_ but it feels so safe._

Ron pulled Draco with him to the bed—their lips separated for a moment, the redhead grinning broadly—knees bumping the side they fell down in a tangle of limbs, and struggled to sit back up straight, the sides of their thighs touching through their trousers. They took some time listening to each other's panting, Draco taking off Ron's waistcoat completely while those big hands slid across his chest. It was a strong contrast, Ron's hands, rather callused, lightly tanned with a scar running across his palm, touching at the pure, soft flesh of Draco's chest, so damn pale, almost like milk, smooth and unmarred. The only part of his chest that differed, were his nipples, a soft rosy colour.

The redhead grazed a thumb over one of the nubs—Draco gasped, hastily pushing Ron's shirt down over his shoulder—watching it stand to attention immediately. He stared, amazed he could _see_ the goosebumps form, watching a small droplet of sweat running down Draco's neck, over his sternum, and dip into his bellybutton. Transfixed by his lover's body, he poked at the other pink nipple, then followed the trail the drop had led, with his thumb. When he encountered black slacks, he pushed back up and focused once more on the nubs, jutting out so proudly against the otherwise pale skin.

His eyes moved away from the intriguing sight to meet Draco's—the blonde's were lit with swirling silver, exploding when they locked with Ron's, and it was simply breathtaking to see that colour shift, and become something much darker—_I want you_. For a single, earthshaking second, they just sat looking at each other, hands set on each other's body, but not moving.

Then, gradually, Ron turned his head to the side, leaning in to catch Draco's mouth in a kiss. As soon as their lips touched, they began moving again. Ron accommodated his hips when Draco fumbled with his fly, groaning into the open-mouthed kiss. The blonde fought to get the jeans down Ron's thighs, while Ron merely undid the button of Draco's slacks and pushed his hand inside.

Draco pulled away from the kiss so he could bite his lip instead, —Ron's experienced fingers slithering into his boxer-briefs—pushing down Ron's old-fashioned underwear just enough to reveal the boy's own erection.

They shifted, closer to each other and kissed again, a brief peck this time, panting against each other's lips. Both of their breathing was shallow, and Draco's skin felt brackish with transpiration. His thighs too, were hot and slick, and as they were still concealed by his pants, it was a bit uncomfortable, though he ignored it.

He kissed Ron's neck affectionately, nipping at his collarbone before slowly, _ohsodamnagonisinglyslow,_ twisting his wrist. Ron's reaction was immediate, a sharp cry and a shudder, racking his whole frame.

"Draco," he bit out, slender fingers wrapping around his hard flesh, "look at me."

Draco did as he was told, straightening—even though he was mildly disappointed not to be able to taste Ron's skin any longer, the look of pure bliss on Ron's face made up for that—and then moaning wildly when Ron suddenly started moving his hand as well, his voice hitching.

At first it was a bit awkward, mismatched rhythms, shifting to make it easier—gasping into the empty air, so close they could _feel_ the other breathe. Then, suddenly, as if by accident, their jerks fell perfectly into place, completely in sync. It even became easy to use their free hand—grasping as much wonderful skin as they could, teasing each other with feather light touches.

Draco smeared the redhead's precome over the boy's shaft with his thumb, giving it a squeeze—Ron groaned in surprise, his usual gruff bedroom-voice making it sound more like a growl—he licked his own lips when more pearly liquid leaked from the tip, wondering if it would still taste the same as it did the last time it touched his tongue.

The idea of bending over and finding out occurred to Draco, but frankly, he did not think he could handle it. His skin was sweaty and his hips were thrusting into Ron's hand relentlessly, no matter how he tried to control his body's movements, he seemed to fail. They were both already so close, and as he watched Ron's dick bob in his hand, sweeping his thumb over the tip again, he realised the redhead was perhaps even closer than he was, his strong abdomen trembling out of control, his muscles flexing.

Draco focused his gaze on Ron's face once more—the boy was looking at him intently, eyes clouded over with lust—his pale cheeks reddening when Ron made him moan hoarsely. He was glad to see the redhead was in the same state as him: sweaty and flustered, biting his lip to silence himself somewhat. Even though kissing would be an easy solution, Draco liked seeing Ron's face when they were like this, and it seemed to make it even more intense. Seeing every single emotion cross his face like that, there were no secrets between them, and it was so insanely erotic, it made him moan again. Draco couldn't imagine anything purer than that,_ fucking perfect._

He nearly lost it when Ron sped up, and the redhead leaned into the pale body next to his, panting into Draco's shoulder. Draco had never, by comparison, felt small, really. He was rather tall, and was very proud of his body and his goods, but somehow, with Ron, he felt frail and fragile, as if he could just break—knowing fully well that Ron would pick up the pieces and put them back together again—because Ron was just so _big_ compared to him. Big hands, big heart, _big, beautiful everything_. Even so, Ron was totally spent, and he buried his head in Draco's neck, groaning.

"_Draco_," it was a deep, dark sound—_pure sex_ and absolutely gorgeous to hear his name falling so carelessly from Ron's lips—_all for me._

Draco kissed his temple, straining to keep going at the same, fast pace, even though his muscles were twitching with tension. Ron shuddered against him, and he swallowed a moan of his own, barely managing to purr: "together?"

Gasping against Draco's shoulder, Ron nodded: "together."

Draco pushed his free hand up Ron's sweaty chest, to his neck. He cupped his cheek, drawing the parted lips up to meet his in a kiss—the second Draco felt Ron push his body closer to him, their sides meshed together completely, they both came, swallowing their names rolling off the other's tongue. It was almost obscenely hot, so Draco noticed, Ron's pulsing heat in his fist, the redhead's tongue in his mouth, with his pulse thundering and light searing up his spine.

They fell back to the mattress—sweaty and panting, everything ridiculously _hot_ and Draco's heart beating through his chest—the tumble over the edge so intense he had shot his load against his own chest, Ron's spunk sticky between Draco's fingers. He licked them clean contemplatively, studying the taste. Ron groaned when he saw the action, covering his forehead with his arm, averting his eyes from the sight.

"Baby, don't do that," his voice was deep and almost completely gone, barely above a whisper, "you'll make me hot again."

Draco just shrugged, sucking them clean one by one. He noticed how Ron pretended not to watch, though the redhead was peering at him all the while. He enjoyed watching him lay there, hair matted to his forehead, body spent and covered with droplets of sweat, shining in the light coming through the window. It was good to know that Draco too, could make his lover boneless, a privilege usually reserved for Ron.

When he had removed the last of the fluids from his fingers, he took his shirt off the floor, tossing it over into the hamper in the corner of his room. Ron watched as he undid the laces of his shoes, his own breathing still too hard, too tired to move an inch. Draco hooked his finger in the heel of his sock, pulling it off, before continuing with the other. He gave his lover time to regain his breath while he undid his slacks properly, disposing them in the hamper as well. As last he pushed his briefs down his thighs, glad that the clothes were no longer restricting his damp skin.

Ron groaned softly when every inch of the milky skin was revealed before him, and Draco turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Languidly, the redhead straightened next to the naked blonde, kissing him tenderly. When they separated, Draco was grinning, his hand already pushing down Ron's jeans, fingers worming themselves back into the underwear.

"Again?" he asked hoarsely, kissing the tan skin of Ron's chin.

"Yeah," Ron nodded fervently—carefully pushing the smaller body to the mattress—Draco tugging at his boxers to get him to lie down on top of his naked flesh, "I'd like that."

"I thought you would," Draco smirked, kissing him once more—determined that_ I won't be the only one out-of-breath by the time we're through._

Afterwards they lay basking in the afterglow, Ron's arm comfortably around Draco's shoulder—and even though he pretended to detest post-coitus snuggles, it was still damn nice. Draco flattened his head into the broad chest and sighed delicately, because _I can hear his heart beat and it's the best thing I've ever experienced._

Ron's fingers carded through the hairs at the back of Draco's neck absentmindedly, and they both stared up at the ceiling, the Sirius star shining down brightly. He unconsciously tightened his arm around Ron's hip and pressed a kiss to his chest, before lying back down contently.

"Drake, I was just wondering..." Ron kept his eyes firmly on the ceiling, the tops of his ears flushing slightly—Draco didn't notice, too busy enjoying the feel of the rippling muscles under his hands, entwining his leg with one of the tan ones, _sweaty against sweaty_, "I mean... was that good for you too?"

Draco frowned at the question, trying to see the redhead's face without having to move—he failed though, their position making it impossible—instead he focussed on his finger, drawing a nonsensical figurine around a nipple.

"Of course," the confusion sounded through his voice, as if he was wondering whether or not his lover had lost his mind, "I came, didn't I?"

Ron rolled his eyes at how careless the answer was—_but what does he want me to say? He always makes me feel amazing in that stupid butterflies-in-the-stomach way, the bastard._

"But... the first time, it was..." he stumbled over words to try and explain what was bothering, him, sighing deeply, troubled, "you deserve a really great first time and I... couldn't even give you that."

"Ron, honestly, no one's first time is perfect," it was Draco's time to roll his eyes, and he propped himself up on his elbow so he could look the redhead in the face, "no one could've given me a better first time than you."

And he meant it, too.

"Zabini could've," Ron grumbled darkly, a childish frown on his face.

"I sincerely doubt that," Draco lay his head back down, flattening his hand against Ron's chest, "he's my best friend, but he's nothing like you. I mean, he doesn't have any freckles, at all," as if to show his appreciation, he kissed one of the spots in the hollow of his throat, "worse even, is that he's in no way burly like you."

"Only you could make that sound like a good thing," Ron muttered petulantly, pouting cutely—at which Draco rolled his eyes again, _his ignorance just never seems to astonish me._

"Ronald," he began exasperated, sliding his hand over the span of the tan chest, "it's fucking sexy that you're broad like this. Now this is the last time I'm going to tell you, and you better listen," he poked the boy's torso ominously, threatening: "or I'm kicking you out. You're absolutely gorgeous."

Ron blushed an endearing shade of pink, rolling his eyes to try and cover up his embarrassment. It almost made Draco laugh, _but only almost_, and he flattered his head closer into Ron's chest, feeling the other boy's arms tighten around him. They went quiet again, staring at the ceiling, even though Draco couldn't help but wonder, '_can you hear this?'_ every time the mere slide of Ron's hand over his hip made his heart skip a beat. Draco could hear Ron's beat through his chest, when he pressed his ear against the boy's upper torso, and it was the most astonishing sound he'd ever heard. He vaguely remembered that apparently Ron had forgotten all about the bracelet, and he felt rather relieved about it, since _I'm not sure I'm ready to tell him yet._

The stars on the ceiling twinkled relentlessly, and watching them made Draco's eyelids feel tired, and he knew he was going to fall asleep soon—even if he aimed to stay awake until Ron fell asleep first—so he tried counting them to keep himself awake.

"I don't think..." a jaw-cracking yawn broke Ron off, mid-sentence, and he brought a hand up to try and stifle it, to no avail, "I wouldn't have wanted it with anyone else either."

He smacked his lips tiredly, and when Draco lifted his head off his chest, he saw that he had closed his eyes already, half-asleep. He didn't say anything, but resumed watching the ceiling—determined to stay awake until the Sirius star faded and went black, blending in with the rest of the darkness, but that never happened and he fell asleep, the light so bright he could see it even in his dreams.

Draco woke up with his head still on Ron's chest, their bare legs entangled. It was a bit too melancholic for his taste, but it was still nice, and he chose to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach. He kissed the tan skin his lips could reach, stretching delicately as he sat up straight. The curtains were still drawn shut, but light was creeping in through the cracks, the light of the Sirius-star dulled out by the sun.

Utterly careful not to wake the redhead up, he left the bed, swinging his legs over the side. The floorboards had a sort of hot feel where the sun touched them, having been soaked in its warmth. It was actually really nice, typical honest summer weather, _where you wake up in the morning and you just know that today will be a good day._

Or, maybe, he was just still particularly giddy after Ronald making love to him—_multiple times_—that could be it, too.

Draco realised very well, that that probably _was_ it, but he ignored that fact, because sunny weather made him want to smile either way. He stretched a couple of times, trying to chase the tension from his shoulders. Then he went over to his dresser to put on a pair of clean briefs, and a white pyjama short.

He was about to go into the bathroom to refresh—he just felt a bit sweaty, but figured he could still shower with Ron later—when he heard a soft huff and he faced the bed again. Ron had thrown the blankets off his body in his sleep—the room clearly too hot for his liking—wearing only a flimsy pair of briefs. He appeared to be having a rather vivid dream, flopping onto his stomach as he groaned.

Draco knew he was probably suffering from sunstroke or something, but everything about Ron, in that moment, was pure _perfection_. It wasn't very special, really; his head buried in his arms, since his uneasy sleep had caused his pillow to fall to the floor, his body resting easily against the sheets, tangled red hair brushing against his slumbering face.

But really, the way his back curved up into his arse, then went down to his strong thighs and eventually ended with the heel of his foot—the skin there a lighter shade than the rest of his body—it was breath-taking. The sun shone down onto his back at just the right angle, causing his shoulder blades—tensed up due to the position of his arms—to throw shadows onto his back, just like his lashes, shading miniscule parts of his cheeks from the light.

Sunstroke or no, it took Draco only two minutes to search his still half-unpacked boxes and retrieve an old-fashioned muggle camera as well as his sketching pad and utensils. It had been a while since he had found something fascinating enough to actually draw it—it had seemed not worth it, going through the trouble of digging through the remnants of those boxes, knowing fully well that he would only find memories—but he couldn't let a chance like that slide. He didn't want to admit it out loud, but he had drawn Ron before, just never from this close up. When it was late and he was bored—or when he was stressed from homework—he would draw the boy. It was hard doing it based on just memories, and he had always found they lacked depth. He had tried drawing him when they were having breakfast in the great hall, but that was difficult since he didn't want anyone knowing about it, so he could only draw Ron when they were in class.

Even though the drawings in his pad would remind him of his past—drawings of his father but also different varieties of Ron in class—he wanted at least one in there to remind him of his future. And though it didn't surprise him, that in his head, _Ron_ seemed to equal _future_, it did surprise him that he had just willingly admit that, to himself.

He took multiple pictures, each time a Polaroid appeared deducing that he could do better, until he was satisfied with the result. The light had been captured just right, and the band around Ron's wrist was visible, which made Draco even happier with the outcome. He put the pictures on his desk, before moving the comfortable chair from the corner to overlook the side of the bed better. After he'd adjusted it so he would get a perfect angle, he seated himself. And quietly, he set to work.

He started with the shoulders—adding a bit of shade—and went on with the arms and head from thereon. He encountered some difficulties when the shoulders ran into his back and then curved up into his plump arse. It was rather stressful, because he really didn't want to mess it up. Definitely not because of the boy's ass—it was Draco's favourite part of Ron's body—so he refused to allow himself to make this drawing anything short of perfect.

It took him well over half-an-hour to finish his first draft, just the rough outlines. For Draco, it was like being in a sort of trance, one leg tucked up, his other bent under his body, his pad resting against his thigh and the pencil moving on a will of its own. He had almost forgotten how much he _liked_ drawing, how freeing the experience was for him.

He was putting the final touches to the drawing—over two hours later—smearing the lines with his thumb to create a darker shading, when someone knocked and suddenly the trance was broken.

Frowning, he got up, laying his sketch book on the chair. He wondered who it could possibly be, _Sirius doesn't knock, Ginny knocks but enters immediately,_ opening the door with an unsettling feeling in his stomach.

It was Harry. He was wearing a too big pyjama and scratched the back of his head nervously.

"Erm... hi," Harry began, eyes widening when he saw Draco, _as if this room doesn't belong to me,_ but when his eyes strayed down Draco's body, the blonde realised his chest was bare, "I was just looking for Ron..."

Though it didn't sound like a question, Draco knew that it was supposed to be one.

"He's still asleep," Draco looked at him curiously—green avoiding grey—leaning into the door frame, "I can wake him if you want?"

"No, I'll just..." he paused, and Draco figured that he was rather embarrassed, "can I wait here?"

"Of course," Draco headed back inside the room, quickly taking his pad off the chair, tossing it onto the desk so Harry wouldn't see it, "please excuse me, I was brushing my hair."

Harry nodded, taking the seat offered to him. He tried not to stare too obviously at his best friend, but Draco could still see him casting looks towards the redhead's sleeping figure.

Draco went back to his dresser, searching for a shirt to go with his pyjama shorts, and found a green one. When he put it on, the sleeves reached half-way his upper arms, which would be good in the warm weather, so he decided to wear that one. Then he combed his hair, working the knots out.

It was very uncomfortable when he was done, Harry still studying his friend. Ron had turned onto his side, away from Harry with his back curved. Not knowing how else to keep himself from drowning in uncomfortable silence, Draco started picking up random pieces of clothing littered on the ground. This kept him pretty busy, and due to that, neither of them felt pressured to talk.

He was just picking up Ron's dirty socks when suddenly the redhead's hand shot out and locked into the waistband of Draco's shorts, pulling him closer. The back of his knees hit the bed and he frowned, surprised at the sudden move.

"What are you doing?" Ron grunted, offering no explanation for his actions—when he tried to pull away, Ron's fingers tightened in the fabric.

"I was just cleaning up a bit," he turned his head, trying to see Ron's face over his shoulder—the boy's eyes were still closed, yet somehow he'd known Draco was near.

"Why are you moving?" his voice was thick with sleep, but stern and filled with suspicion—questioning his motives for ever even considering leaving his side.

And all it said inside Draco's head was _cute_.

"Well freckles, the hamper is all the way over there, so I'll have to move at least a little to reach it," once more, Draco tried to free himself from his lover's grasp—he was a bit uncomfortable, the skin of his knees pressed into the wood—but Ron refused letting him go.

"Why are you not in bed?" Ron growled, shifting his hand so he could wrap his arm around Draco's waist, holding him tighter, "And why are you dressed?"

He pulled Draco back onto the bed, the blonde flopping down—ever graceful—onto his arse.

"What is this, twenty questions?" Draco rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but automatically lean back into him, "I was no longer tired, so it seemed useless to stay in bed. Harry is here," said boy made a small noise at being mentioned, staring at them with interest, "he probably wants to talk to you."

"'m too tired," Ron grunted lazily, "come back to bed."

The blonde was pulled down completely, Ron forcing him into his own chest. Draco felt immediately at ease, and couldn't help but purr contently when Ron kissed his neck, throwing one of his legs around Draco's lazily. Still, Draco felt the need to protest—even if only a little—because_ I'm really making this too easy on him_.

"I'm not going to sleep," even though he meant it, he cuddled back into Ron's body as if by mere instinct.

"You don't have to," Ron nestled his face into Draco's neck, tickling him with his ruddy curls, "just don't move."

"Don't move?" Draco repeated, snapping despite himself.

"Shhh, tired," the redhead murmured drowsily, too far gone to even make coherent sentences.

Draco resigned himself to his fate, locked in the strong, bare forearms. It was nice and warm, and with Ron's thigh resting against his hips, he could feel the muscles flex and stretch each time the boy moved. It felt safe and comfortable, and for a minute, Draco was sure he would be able to fall asleep again, despite the fact that he really wasn't tired any more, but then there was a low grunt, and he felt something against his shoulder that wasn't supposed to be there and... _is that...?_

"That is IT!" Draco turned around abruptly—his eyes, which had been drooping shut, snapping back wide open—and pushed Ron onto his back.

Ron made a noise of protest, but before he could even open his own eyes to see what was happening, Draco had crawled on top of him, and the flat of the blonde's hand met with Ron's cheek—the noise flat and slapping, skin on skin, making Harry wince at the mere idea of being at the receiving end of the blow.

"AUW!" Ron shrieked indignantly, cupping his throbbing cheek—trying to glare at Draco, but too confused to manage completely, "What the hell!"

"You drooled on me!" Draco was glaring as well, though his was fiercer, wiping at his half-revealed shoulder.

"YOU HIT ME!" Ron repeated incredulous, cheeks flushed, one redder than the other.

"You _drooled_!" Draco countered as if that justified his actions, "Your _saliva_ was on my fucking _shoulder_!"

"You didn't mind my saliva when it was on your shoulder last night!" Ron pouted petulantly, crudely reminding him of _heat_ and _naked_.

"That was different!" the blonde protested, _show that Malfoy reasoning!_ "That was the sexy sort of saliva!" from the corner of his eye, Draco could see Harry thinking; _there're different sorts of saliva?_ "This was _not_ the sexy sort of saliva Ronald, this was the sleepy sort of saliva! You _drooled_ on me!"

"I was _sleeping_!" Ron shielded himself, grasping onto one pale thigh.

"Well you're not any more!" Draco swatted the hand away, getting off his lover's half-naked body—he got off the bed gracefully, and took his sketchbook off his desk on his way to the bathroom, not wanting either of the two teens to see it—Ron pulling up the blankets to cover his nakedness, "I'm taking a shower, I'll be right back."

"You crazy bastard!" Ron growled, no real malice left, sitting up befuddled on bed.

"Well fuck you, 'cause you want me anyway!" Draco slammed the door behind him, leaving Harry and Ron to exchange equally shocked and confused looks.

Draco was just washing the soap from his hair when he heard the bathroom door open. It made a dull creaking sound, and then closed again with a thud.

He couldn't see in fear of getting his shampoo in his eyes, but knew with full certainty, that it was Ron. Still, he remained cautious, listening for any sound that might indicate that something was off. He lathered his head with a sufficient amount of water, dragging his fingers through his hair to get the soap out, ears perked.

A sound of fabric against skin, and a thud was heard, and then nothing. Then, soft padding of feet over the tiled floor, and someone drew the shower curtain to the side. When the person moved in behind him, he knew without a doubt that it was Ron—the whole sense about the boy was too familiar, and his shoulder relaxed on instinct—joining him under the jet of lukewarm water.

"Draco," Ron's deep voice came softly, and his arms wrapped themselves around Draco's waist from behind, "are you angry with me?"

The redhead kept his distance, not moving in to press his chest into Draco's back. Knowing that Ron wanted to be sure he was alright, before coming too close, was very soothing, and helped Draco relax further.

"...no," Draco eventually decided, sounding hesitant, "I'm not angry with you. But why aren't you out there with Harry?"

"I don't know," Ron shrugged his shoulders, leaning into Draco's back fully now that he was assured the blonde was not upset, "it's just really awkward, talking to him, after what happened."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Draco tried using a soothing voice—but he'd never really been good at comforting, so he wasn't sure it did any good—turning into Ron's embrace, "you just need some time to get used to it."

"It's just hard," Ron looked truly upset, and Draco wondered if perhaps they had had an argument again, "it's never been awkward before. What do you do to make the awkward go away?"

He seemed desperate to find an answer, wanting to fix his problem—the only problem was that Draco could offer no solution—even though he wanted to help, _anything to see him smile,_ he didn't know _how_ to fix this.

"I've never had awkward periods with my friends," Draco's lips tightened, "I've known Blaise for too long, nothing could ever be awkward between us."

He reached behind Ron to take his own, almond-scented shampoo, his frown fading when Ron's hands settled on his hips instead, holding him delicately close.

"It wasn't even awkward when you told him?" the redhead asked curiously, the worry in his eyes replaced with interest, "You know, about us?"

"Of course not, why would that be awkward?" Draco massaged the soap through Ron's hair, watching froth form between his fingers, "Blaise would be pro me, regardless of the person I choose to love."

"Even when that person turned out to be me?" Ron was more than a little sceptical, but Draco just tugged at his hair in warning.

"Yes, even then," he said, "he was surprised, but figured you were probably just really good in the sack, and for him, that overrules the fact that you're a Gryffindor."

"I wish Harry would care more about me liking you than about you being Draco Malfoy," Ron sighed, making a noise of contentment when Draco rubbed the soap from behind his ear, fingertips teasing sensitive flesh.

"I understand that Harry's a bit conflicted," _I can't believe I actually said that aloud! What happened to me? When did I turn into such a sap?_ "But you mustn't forget that there's also the fact that Blaise is gay. He knows prejudice, and he would never judge me of my choices because he knows how it feels to be judged."

"I doubt Harry would be more okay with this if he were gay," Ron chuckled at the idea of Harry with another man, the thought was truly absurd.

"He'd be lusting after you if you were gay," Draco growled darkly, suddenly glaring up at his lover, "he better not turn out to like cock, or I'm locking you into my bedroom forever!"

"I wouldn't mind that," Ron mused, pulling Draco's hips against his own, "I wouldn't mind that at all."

Draco grinned cheekily, using his hips to push Ron back under the water stream—he got a growl of protest, but ignored it—tugging at his hair and pulling his head back so the soap wouldn't catch in his eyes. Careful to not hurt his lover, he swiped his hand over his forehead and down into his darkened locks, washing the foam out. He couldn't resist the sight of Ron's neck revealed to him like that, the marvellous body deliciously distracting, so he ventured out his tongue to have a sample of the hollow of his lover's throat.

Ron groaned hoarsely, his grip on Draco's hips tightening to become borderline painful, but Draco was so used to that by now—_always refuses to let go of them, the bitch_—that it felt rather good, much like an always-present reminder of what they shared.

He washed the remnants of soap from Ron's hair and leaned up to kiss him under his ear, stepping back with a grin. Ron protested feebly, trying to pull Draco back into his embrace, but Draco clucked his tongue and swatted the prying hands off.

"Baby," Ron groaned, a pained expression on his face, "you can't do that, that's so cruel!"

Despite Ron's protests, Draco got out of the shower, getting one of the fluffy towels from the overhead cabinet. When Ron realised Draco really wasn't coming back, he groaned again and turned the faucet off, following the blonde into the bathroom.

"Can I have one of those?" he stood a bit uneasily, covering up his crotch and shaking his head like a dog to dry his hair, droplets splattering around.

It was damn funny to watch.

Draco wrapped the towel around his torso, reaching up to get another. He walked back to where Ron stood, nuzzling his neck while he moved the towel around Ron's back, tying it around his waist. Ron tried putting his lips to Draco's, but the blonde ducked to avoid him, clucking his tongue once more.

Not knowing what he had done to deserve such treatment, Ron frowned, sliding his hands down Draco's waist. He encountered white fluffy towel, and pushed them down further, until they slid onto smooth skin and he let them go back up under the towel, pushing the thick fabric up to reveal the pale thighs. His eyes widened when he saw his lover's revealed waist, coming to attention when he grabbed the boy's marble arse. Draco purred, nuzzling into Ron's neck so he wouldn't have to watch the look of excitement on Ronald's face, knowing that would make it too hard to resist.

"We can't," he huffed when Ron pulled their waists together, his thighs meeting Ron's towel, "we can't now, Harry will hear."

Ron groaned when he realised Draco was right, thudding his forehead into Draco's shoulder. Draco couldn't help but chuckle at Ron's demeanour, purring into his neck. The redhead's hands massaged his buttocks and he lifted the blonde abruptly, holding him up with a frown.

"Fine, but at least kiss me," he ordered grumpily, pushing his nose into Draco's.

The petulant tone made Draco laugh silently again, and he obeyed after winding his arms around Ron's neck. The kiss was more hungry than anything else, Draco parting his lips to accommodate Ron's tongue—allowing the redhead a sample before pulling back, breathless.

He untangled himself from Ron, flopping down back onto the floor. Fixing his towel he dried himself off, smirking when Ron continued to do nothing but stand and stare at him.

"Get a move on," Draco urged him, laying the towel around his neck—inwardly his smirk widened when Ron's eyes trailed down to his crotch—finding his pair of briefs, "I want to have breakfast soon."

He slid his underwear up his legs, then took the short he had placed next to the sink before. Ron shrugged and simply put his own briefs back on—apparently he hadn't bothered to dress, since he had followed Draco into the shower almost immediately—sitting down on the lid of the toilet so he could watch Draco as he fussed with his hair, his chest still bare.

The blonde took extreme care to comb the knots out, repeating a process he had done not ten minutes before, droplets of water falling down onto the towel. Every now and then he carefully rubbed his head with the towel to get his hair to dry faster, and then he would take the brush through it again, combing it backwards. Ron watched how his hair changed shades, from a darker blonde to an almost silvery golden colour as it dried slowly. He dried his own hair by fluffing the towel on his head, rubbing it ruthlessly. While Draco's hair looked neat and tidy, Ron's was completely ruffled and unruly.

Draco suddenly noticed Ron was still watching him, seeing his reflection in the mirror, the blue of his eyes darkened. He frowned, setting his comb down and pulling his shirt over his head, careful not to tangle his hair up again.

"Do you honestly find joy in watching me do my hair?" he asked with a bit of a sneer, eyeing himself in the mirror critically, before turning to Ron, leaning back against the sink.

"It's cute to see you fuss like that," Ron got up, running a hand through his own hair, "if I'm not allowed to touch, I have to settle for watching, don't I?"

The blonde rolled his eyes at the tone of Ron's voice—slightly petulant and disappointed—facing the mirror again.

"You very well know I can't let you make love to me now Ronald," he retaliated sharply, watching Ron move in behind him, "Harry's in the other room."

"I know," Ron nodded, running his hands down Draco's hips before taking a resolute step back, "I can't help it that you look so good. It just makes me want to touch you all over."

"Don't say that," Draco murmured, feeling the affect of his lover's words, a heat tightening in his belly, "not now. Later."

He tugged at Ron's chin with one hand, luring him into a brief, last kiss—a smile in the corner of his mouth—before making advances to leave the bathroom, both reluctant to go. Ron paused just before Draco could open the door, looking down at his bare chest, and then back at the direction of the bedroom.

"Erm," he blushed suddenly, embarrassed, "do you have a robe or something I can wear?"

"Sure," Draco pointed to the cabinet, knowing there were some silk robes in there, "take one."

With that he left Ron in the bathroom, going back into the bedroom. Harry was still exactly where he'd been when Draco had left—on the comfortable chair, looking around the room curiously. He seemed to be doing his best to avoid looking at the bed, as if he wouldn't be able to stomach knowing that's where his best friend spent his nights now.

He looked up when Draco entered, a crooked smile on his face, trying his best to look genuinely happy to see him. Draco could see right through it, but he chose to ignore this fact, _maybe one day he won't have to try so hard to pretend,_ giving the boy a nod and going to his desk so he could rearrange it—the Polaroid pictures were still there, and he planned on putting them in his sketch pad—when he noticed something was off.

With a start, he realised he had left his book in the bathroom. With _Ron._ _Fuck._

**AN: This is the first time I've done the whole mutual touching thing – I mean, not that it's the first time I've done the mutual touching, just the mutual jerking, since I'm a girl and I've done mutual touching but what we do is definitely not jerking, and yes, I realise that may have been too much info, but damnit, this is awkward already – just, well, this whole jerking-each-other-off thing was awkwarder than I care to admit. I mean, honestly ! How many times have I made them shag already ? That's right ! A lot of times ! Yet… this jerking thing was awkward.**

**Forgive the awkwardness. Damnit. Stupid… awkward… jerk… thing. UGH! _O_**


	22. Rough and Real

22. Rough and Real

**FOR: tigztdepaul, because you're nutters and that means I love you. WHOOTWHOOT!**

**AN: In my head, Lucius is this very important person, to society and just in general, really, so keep that in mind when you read this. I've made him more important than he really is.**

**SPECIAL THANKS TO: Alaie ! She is the person that read my stuff before I update, and no error I've left gets past her vigilant eye ! She works hard even though I'm demanding and can be a bitch and am pushy, and I love her for it. So, thank you very much ! 3**

"Baby, you forgot something," as if on key, Ron exited the bathroom—robe draped securely around his body—holding the black, leather-bound sketch book in one hand, flipping the pages curiously with the other.

Harry watched Ron in interest, and Draco saw him stop still after he flipped the first page. He didn't know what Ron had expected to find, but knew for sure that whatever his eyes fell on, _drawings_ was the last thing he expected to see.

Draco tried his best to remember who the first sketch was of—praying to whatever God above that it wouldn't be Blaise—but all he could really think was,_ he's watching and he'll see._

And he panicked.

"Who the hell gave you the right to take it!" he growled angrily, unable to help himself, _he'll see and he'll know,_ "Give it back!"

Both teens were startled at the outburst—Harry's eyes widening—but Ron had been there before, _we've fought before,_ so he just frowned.

"Don't be so uptight, I'm just looking," he snapped back, turning the page, "or what? Is there something in here I can't see?"

"You have no right to question me!" Draco scoffed, storming over to grab his book—Ron pushed him off, their glares locking, "It's mine! Give it back!"

"No! Not until I know what the hell you're being so secretive about!" Ron grabbed him around his waist, locking his lover tightly into his own chest.

All Draco could do was struggle and fail to free himself, breathing in the muscular scent of Ron's neck mixed with almonds. And even though he really should be worrying, he couldn't when they were this close.

"It's not like that Ronald," Draco protested, groaning in panic, _stupid bastard,_ "just give it back!"

"No," the redhead snapped, moving one hand so he could see the sketching pad as he turned a page, "I'm sick of all these people knowing stuff about you that I'm not allowed to know!"

Draco struggled again, and he half-wondered if Harry would help him if he asked, but then decided there was no way in hell he even _wanted_ Pothead's help. He pushed his face into Ron's chest, hoping to use the boy's earlier excitement against him and get loose from the restraint.

"No one knows things about me you're not allowed to know Ron," he grunted, "you're paranoid!"

"Oh yeah, like the bracelet?" Ron snapped, and Draco's eyes widened.

_But he forgot?_

"But—" he looked up at Ron's face—his eyes fixed on the pages of the book—scrambled up in anger.

"You didn't really think I forgot, did you?" he glared down at the blonde momentarily, shaking his head in disbelief, "I decided I'd just let it slide, since you were so hard-pressed on not telling me!"

"I didn't—" he felt tears well up in his eyes, _this is turning out to be so much worse than I thought it'd be,_ "Ron, you have it all wrong, it's not—"

"It never is, is it?" he rolled his eyes and fixed on the book again, seemingly determined to find out what was so important he couldn't know, "We'll see."

_But you can't!_

"Ron, this is stupid," Draco began, looking up desperately, "it's—"

He cut himself off when Ron's eyes suddenly widened. His grip around Draco loosened slightly, but suddenly, Draco didn't want to turn around and see what Ron saw anymore, because he knew. _Not good._

Draco pushed his face back into Ron's chest, now more for comfort—he really didn't want to look up anymore, he just wanted to sink into a hole in the floor and disappear forever. He didn't ever think he would be embarrassed, by anything, but this, this was it. The single most frightening moment in his life.

_Really? Seeing the manor burn down might top that chart._

"It—" Ron paused, sounding insecure of what he should say.

He shifted Draco in his embrace, using both hands to flip another page. And another. When Draco had heard a fourth page being flipped, he looked up cautiously. Ron no longer looked angry, only adoration on his face.

_Stupid wanker, he's pleased!_

"Don't be so damn proud," Draco scolded, turning slightly to see what picture Ron was looking at now—a close-up of the nape of his own neck, freckles included—and _maybe this isn't so bad after all._

"These are really good Drake," Ron sighed blissfully, a goofy grin on his face, turning to a picture of himself chewing on a sugar-quill, "I hadn't... thought it would be like this."

He flipped to one of himself running a hand through his hair and Draco rolled his eyes.

"You thought it'd be Blaise," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," Ron admitted, blushing, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"

He arrived at the last picture and stopped in shock. It was by far the most accurate one, pinned down perfectly to the shade of the freckles on Ron's back; the one he'd drawn that same morning. Draco watched the boy's face go from surprise to pride, and he grinned broadly, glancing down at his lover.

Draco crossed his arms defiantly—_drawings of Ron, okay. Half-naked drawings of Ron, not okay_—daring the redhead to speak.

Instead of speaking, he closed the book and swooped down to kiss him—not as desperate as before, but merely willing to express his love and gratitude.

"Thank you," Ron murmured when they parted, handing the book back to Draco.

"What for?" the blonde frowned, confused now, _what did I miss?_

"For proving me wrong," Ron smiled, focusing on Harry suddenly, "hey, 'ave you seen my jeans mate?"

They awkwardly fussed about, Harry helping Ron find his jeans while Draco put his sketchbook away, together with the pictures. He watched Ron dress, the redhead glancing his way each time he thought Harry wasn't looking. It was pretty obvious to Draco that Harry _knew_ Ron was eyeing him the entire time, just that the raven pretended not to notice.

When he had properly dressed—jeans and a white tank top—they headed out the door, Harry walking next to Ron and trying to start a decent conversation. Ron drew Draco closer around his hip, giving him a full look-over, licking his lips. It made Draco want to chortle, but the idea that just the look of him caused Ron's mouth to go dry, was rather pleasant, so he refrained, pushing his side into Ron instead.

Ron welcomed the slender body into his own, leaning back into him, their thighs touching through a layer of jeans. The hand on Draco's hip strayed downwards slightly, Ron pretending to be engaged in his talk with Harry, when he was instead focusing on lowering his hand onto Draco's bare skin, his fingers teasing under the fabric of the white pyjama short.

Draco vaguely made out the fact that they were talking about yesterday's movie, Ron confessing he couldn't remember much of it, blaming it on being slightly intoxicated. Of course, Draco and he both knew he hadn't been intoxicated, but too busy feeling up the blonde to watch the screen. Harry must have known, but he didn't mention it, just gave a brief summary of what they'd missed.

While they made their way down the stairs, they could hear an argument in the kitchen between Arthur and Molly—the door was opened, and they could see all the other seated already—bickering about something they couldn't make out.

The other Weasley kids and Hermione were having breakfast, but had stopped eating to stare at their fighting parents instead. Sirius and Remus looked as if they wanted to interfere, but were too scared to.

"...easy for you to say Arthur, you don't have to listen to her complaining about 'inappropriate behaviour'!" Molly screeched.

"Honestly darling, they couldn't have possibly known!" Arthur objected, trying to calm his wife.

"They should've been bright enough to know it would cause trouble," Molly protested, "I'm fine with dating, but do they have to be so public about it! It's as if they deliberately did this to drive her—"

She paused when she saw her son, and she fixed her stare at Ron, pointing at him angrily.

"There you are!" she screeched, her voice hitching, "I hope you enjoyed yourself, you nearly gave your grandmother a heart-attack!"

Ron frowned, looking at Draco to see if he knew what his mother was on about. Draco shrugged his shoulders, and before Ron could ask, Arthur interrupted.

"I'm sure they didn't do it on purpose darling," he said, and Bill added: "mum, look at them, they don't even know what you're on about!"

She glared back at her youngest son, but when only confusion crossed his face, she sighed and set her hands to her hips.

"Fine, but you better apologise to your grandmother Ronald," she warned, "she's in no mood thanks to you!"

"Misses Weasley, what happened?" Harry asked—and Draco was quite thankful, because Molly was always extremely kind to the raven—and he took a seat next to Hermione.

"You'll see soon enough," Ginny giggled from her seat on the other side of Hermione.

She handed Harry the newspaper, and everyone around him began grinning suddenly. _What the hell is going on,_ Ron tugged Draco with him to sit down across from Harry, watching as his eyes widened suddenly.

"H-how—" he stuttered, and Ron frowned.

"What?" he asked, taking the paper for Harry, "What is—"

And he too, fell silent.

Draco leaned in to see what was so extraordinary, ignoring the Weasleys' chuckles. There, on the front page of the daily prophet, were two moving pictures, each the size of a half page, big letters flaring above them.

What was so extraordinary, was, perhaps, the fact that for once, it wasn't gossip of Harry Potter that graced the front page. Instead it was news of one Draco Lucius Malfoy's apparent love-life.

_How in Merlin's beard..._

One of the pictures was taken a few days ago, when Draco had been in Diagon Alley. He watched himself lick at the befuddled, picture-Ron's cheek, and then pretend he hadn't. Not a minute later they stopped walking and picture-Draco bit picture-Ron's lip. In answer, picture-Ron dropped his ice cream and hosted picture-Draco up by his arse, snogging the crap out of him. When picture-Ron set picture-Draco down, the happenings replayed.

The second picture was darker, and Draco realised that it had been taken in the muggle movie-theatre. He wondered how on earth he could have missed a photographer there, but when he saw the picture, he remembered.

They were all nicely watching the movie—Hermione next to Harry, Harry next to Ron, Ron next to Draco, and Draco next to Ginny—when picture-Ron slid his hand over picture-Draco's thigh. Picture-Draco gave picture-Ron a small look of disapproval, but then picture-Ron was kissing his neck and his hands were crawling under picture-Draco's dress-shirt and just like that, they were full-out snogging, panting against each other's lips.

It was _damn, hot._

"'Second time Draco Lucius Malfoy sighted with presumed Ronald Bilius Weasley'," Ron read aloud, "I can't believe this!"

"I know," Draco nodded, pulling the paper closer to reread the sentence his lover had just dictated, "is your second name really Bilius?"

"Draco!" Ron cried tetchily, "That's not funny! We're making out on the cover of the Daily Prophet!"

"It's your fault freckles, so don't go getting all cross with me!" Draco snarled, pointing at the second photo, where picture-Ron began feeling picture-Draco up.

"You're the one licking my cheek!" Ron pointed to the first picture.

"It only seems like that! I distinctly remember you're the one that invented imaginary splatters to lick mine first!"

"You were being a cocktease!"

"RONALD!" Molly interrupted, high-pitched and in-distress—Draco could hardly believe the fact that Ron dared say such a thing in front of his mother, _I wouldn't dare,_ honestly, those Weasleys really were sexaddicts!

"Well 'e was," Ron sulked, glaring at the paper, "he did the tongue-thing!"

"I did not do the tongue-thing!" Draco objected, Bill and Charlie bursting out in laughter, "I was eating ice-cream!"

"You did the tongue-thing and you know it!" Ron frowned cutely.

"Yeah, says the man that _growls_!" Draco acted as if growling was a very bad thing, when actually _it just makes me want to rip off his pants and have him right there._

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ron's frown deepened, and he crossed his arms childishly.

"How the hell am I supposed to resist the possessive growl-thing? If you can do the growl-thing, I can do the tongue-thing!"

"I have no growl-thing!" Ron protested.

"Yes you do!" Draco poked his chest, and Ginny nodded.

"Actually, you do," she agreed, clarifying: "it's that grunting noise you make when someone gives Draco a look-over."

"I'm sorry mate, but they're right," Harry nodded as well as Bill and Charlie, "you did it a couple of times yesterday. Growling when someone comes close to him."

"Yeah, you did it the first night we were here as well," Charlie added, "when 'e fell asleep on the couch."

"Thank you," Draco smirked, "see, I can't be blamed for the tongue-thing, when you're the cause of it!"

"I don't mean to do it," Ron dropped his head pitifully, scowling weakly, "I'm sorry, okay, I didn't mean for it to be all over the papers!"

"It's fine," Draco shrugged his shoulders, petting the redhead's back, "don't worry about this. People'll 've forgotten about it in a couple of days."

"But," Ron leaned over so he could whisper into Draco's ear, "I thought that's ours and not theirs?"

Draco grinned and murmured back, making sure his lips brushed his lover's lobe: "yeah, but now at least everyone'll know not to touch what's mine."

Ron blushed and huffed: "see, ruddy cocktease," under his breath, ensuring that his mother didn't hear him.

The blonde chuckled again and Ron turned the page of the paper so he could read the article that came with the pictures.

"Ronald, it's not that simple," Molly snagged the paper from his hand before he could even read the first couple of words, "your grandmother is furious."

"What for?" Ron asked bewildered.

"It's 'improper behaviour'," Molly repeated her earlier words, "what's perhaps even worse is that she believes that, well..."

"What?" Ron pressed—Molly and Arthur exchanged a look, suddenly going quiet.

"She says it's Draco's bad influence that triggered it," Bill said, when it became obvious that neither Molly or Arthur wanted to tell their son what exactly his grandmother had said about his lover.

Ron blinked dumbly, and Draco opened his mouth to say something, but fell short. _How is this my fault?_

"That's ridiculous," under the table, Ron grabbed Draco's hand—he knew that the fact that Draco hadn't said anything, meant he was _hurt_—looking around the kitchen to see where she was, "where is she now?"

"Up in her room," Molly set her hand on his shoulder, "you ought to go and talk to her later. Have breakfast first."

"Alright," Ron nodded—giving a quick glance at Draco to see if the blonde was okay.

He looked the same as always, and Ron began eating his eggs in comfort with the knowledge that Draco was right there and _safe_.

"Can I see that?" Draco asked politely, indicating the newspaper Molly still had in her hand.

She doubted briefly, wondering if it would be a good idea to let the blonde read gossip about himself and his family—but Sirius urged her on, giving her a wave of his hand when the blonde had his back turned to him. She nodded and gave it to him, sitting back down on her original seat, and scooping some eggs and bacon onto a plate for him as well.

The article started out with a brief sum-up of why anyone would care about his love-life, reminding all readers that he was the last descendant of one of the most ancient pure-blood wizarding families in the world, not to mention by far the wealthiest one. It went on to point out that his parents' death had been tragic and a great misfortune, and that although many people did not realise it, with it, the ministry had lost one of its most-wanted associates and an entire nation-wide company had lost its patriarch. Draco was pretty sure that if his father had still been alive to read the article, he would've been most proud of all the words of praise it gave him.

After approximately three whole paragraphs of praise, came the real deal. Draco was described with words as 'majestic' and 'godlike' features. He was compared to the ancient Greek and Roman gods, and was praised for his apparent patience and wits, his hard work and his adoration towards his father. 'Everyone,' so said the paper, 'should know that there is no one more deserving of the Malfoy fortune as Draco. He is a Malfoy through heart and soul, and with that our society has won its next best businessmen.'

Not only that, but apparently Draco had also become a sort of prodigy, and there were even several quotes of the minister, assuring them Draco would follow in his father's footsteps when it came to the man's work for the ministry.

And yes, sure, Draco and Dumbledore had discussed it, but he had never made any such promise. He didn't even to the full extent _know_ what his father's job entailed, so how could he possibly know whether he'd be any good at it, let stand, _want_ it?

Then of course, came the part he'd been looking for.

There was a succinct comparison between Ronald's family and his own, coming to the quick conclusion that although both families had worked hard, there were some definite differences between the two that could not be overlooked. There was the fact that there was an ancient-long rivalry going on between the two families, going way back, and the fact that one consisted out of the purest aristocrats, and the other consisted mostly out of people who had done nothing with their lives.

It was simple and to-the-point.

A Malfoy and a Weasley snogging in Diagon Alley? Unheard of.

Their assumptions, though ridiculous, were proven correct last night. When the first picture had been taken, they had believed it to be a mistake. It raised so many questions, really, was the Malfoy-heir staying with the Weasleys? Did this mean he had suddenly gotten close to the golden boy? How long had he had a craving for redheaded boys?

"Craving for redheaded boys?" Draco repeated aloud, unaware of the fact that the whole kitchen stilled to look at him.

He snorted: "freckles contagious?"

He turned the page to commence his reading, giving the paper a shake to fold it right, when he noticed the stares.

"What?" he asked, looking at the other Weasleys curiously, "Honestly, it's a bit stupid that your grandmother takes offence in this. It's just rubbish written by some dude that obviously had a crush on my dad or something."

He folded the paper neatly, setting it down—when they continued to stare, he decided to elaborate: "all they do is nag about how it can't be you, and that maybe it's some other redhead, and that now, apparently, I _crave_ them, and how, because of the bad lighting in the second picture, your freckles are rubbing off on me."

Ginny giggled: "it really says that?" and took the paper before Fred could.

"That's not fair," the twins complained, "we wanna read the freckle-rub-off as well!"

"Hey, I'm older, that lets me go first!" Charlie snatched the paper from the twins.

"I'm oldest," Bill grinned, "that beats you!"

They started bickering, none of them having had the chance to read the article yet. Draco's comments had made their curiosity meet its peak, and they were tugging and fighting to win the paper for themselves.

"Hey!" Ron suddenly called—startling Draco, "It's about me, I go first!"

He joined in the fight, and after all those weeks, Draco finally got a first-hand experience of what breakfast at the Weasleys was like. Everyone talking, no one listening to a word the other said and bickering about the smallest things possible. Draco, as a Malfoy, found things like that annoying, really, but it was so _Ron_-like, he couldn't bare the strength to resist. Instead, he found Sirius' eyes, and beckoned the raven to come with him.

Ever since Draco found out about his father, he had been wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. It had been bugging him, but he had tried so hard to forget about it. But now that he would be forced to be nice to Harry, he wanted to at least know what had happened between their parents.

Ron gave his hand a squeeze when he stood, giving him a confused look—Draco just squeezed back and gave him a grin—until Sirius guided Draco out of the room, hand on his shoulder.

Harry watched them leave with a critical eye, but Sirius didn't notice, pushing Draco towards the general direction of the living room. He was smiling broadly, and Draco figured he didn't know what the blonde wanted to talk about, otherwise he would've at least tried looking more serious. He seemed happy at getting a chance to talk with Draco though, so he knew he had made the right decision of deciding to ask about his father now.

"I was just wondering about my father and mister Potter," Draco began as soon as the door closed—Sirius stared at him in surprise when the blonde went off on a rant: "I was never really brave enough to question him, but lately I've just been wondering, if maybe you could just tell me what happened? It's just... I've been mulling it over, and I can't understand what could've possibly been bad enough to keep them apart, because my father really loved this man with all he had, and nothing seems to justify leaving him in any way."

He took a deep breath, keeping a straight face, and sat down on the big, comfortable couch. _Well,_ he figured, _at least that's out of my system._ Sirius still just stood there by the door, surprised by the rush of words coming from Draco, since the boy wasn't easy with spilling emotion like that. He was usually very composed and although he pretended to be now, Sirius could see his hands shaking from the stress of having to keep his curiosity hidden for so long.

The man sighed, and in lack of anything else to do, placed himself next to Draco, wrapping and arm around the blonde's narrow shoulders. He hoped the move would convey some affection, as he didn't want to move any closer in fear of upsetting Draco. If there was one thing Sirius knew about the Malfoys, it was that they were very easy to set off, and he really didn't want that to happen to the younger boy beside him. After all, he'd come to love and care for him deeply, and therefore, wanted to make him feel comfortable and at home.

"It was simple really," he began in a soft voice, sounding as if he was merely reading Draco a bedtime story, some fairytale set in a far-off land, "they met and they fell in love," _only that it's not, and this one doesn't end with 'happily ever after',_ "and when Lucius told Lucien, he was displeased, to say the least. When Lucien said he would not let Lucius marry someone who couldn't bear his children, James joked and said they had potions for such a thing," Sirius chuckled at this, remembering his best friend and the man's carefree behaviour—but then his smile turned bitter and he sighed again, heartfelt sorrow sounding through as he continued, looking Draco straight in the eye all the while: "he meant it too, though, so Lucien threatened to go after James and Lucius, if they even considered running off. You know your grandfather was very powerful, he had friends in all the high places, You-know-who's most trusted man until the day he died—threatened to have them killed, and he too, meant it. So they separated and each led their respective lives, Lucius following his father in fear of him carrying out his threats, but they never truly lost contact—I gave James hell about that at one point, but felt bad about it afterwards, because he was trying to have a family, but he couldn't help going back to Lucius for more—and in a really sad way, it's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," he gave a smile and Draco knew he meant it,_ makes them out to be his ideal, the proof of true love with all its ups and down, only that they didn't get to live that way,_ "and then when Lucien died they were making plans to get back together—but James had to go into hiding and they lost touch for a few months. Well, the bad part is—and I found this out when I got out of prison, heard it from Remus, who your father confided in the night after the 31st of October—Lucius had been making amends to leave the Death Eaters," Draco nodded—he had once seen the scar on his father's forearm when Lucius thought he wasn't looking, and he had known right then that his father had once attempted to burn the dark mark off, "but you know, once you're in you don't get out, so You-know-who said, okay, do this one thing for me and you get to leave. And Lucius didn't trust him, but he didn't really have a choice, and all he had to do was keep watch as You-know-who tried convincing another helpless family to join his side. When he saw the green light and heard the baby cry, when he went inside and saw the pictures on the mantle—he knew."

Sirius paused, taking a great inhale of breath—he needed to calm himself, and Draco could see tears forming—for a single second the blonde was confused as to why Sirius was so affected by this part of the story, and then he realised.

_He was right there when mister Potter died._

"The only reason it was a 'last job' was because You-know-who went missing after that," Sirius spat bitterly, hatred in his eyes, his face contorting in anger, "Lucius knew it was a warning, 'I'll go after whatever you treasure and destroy you from the inside-out'," he softened again, and pulled Draco closer to him, their eyes still locked—Draco wasn't sure he could keep the emotion from his eyes, but he knew he was probably doing a better job at it than Sirius was, "so when You-know-who returned, he was right there with the others Draco—but only because he didn't forget what happened the last time he tried leaving. So when people give you shit about your dad, you just turn the other way—I'm not trying to justify his actions, but I cannot say, right here and now, truthfully, that I would have acted differently if it had been my son, my lover, that was on the line."

"He was..." Draco's voice hitched, and he coughed, embarrassed, _it can't have been..._ "_there_?"

Sirius nodded with a pained expression on his face, and Draco's mind went AWOL. _He never told me... I wouldn't know... how could it be that... what would I do if..._

"Draco, don't panic," apparently his internal struggle wasn't all that well-hidden, seeing how Sirius squeezed him closer, "they're up in heaven shagging the hell out of each other now."

And even though that was probably the most inappropriate thing he could have possibly said at that moment, Draco couldn't help but laugh aloud—a nice, upright sound that made Sirius hold him tight to his chest, because it was merely an announcement for the fat tears that came rolling down Draco's cheeks seconds later.

"I'm sorry," Sirius muttered into his hair, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I know," Draco hiccupped and rubbed at his own eyes, fighting back the tears to no avail, "I'd never known it was so... _real_."

And all Sirius did was hold him tighter.

Draco cried for almost ten minutes straight, making weak, pathetic noises that embarrassed him to the point that it only made him want to cry harder. The simple idea that his father had carried this with him for all those years was simply maddening, and he couldn't comprehend it. He couldn't even begin to imagine what agony his father had been in, and yet he'd been so strong, never dropping a notch.

Sirius was very patient with him, keeping him close until the last sobs had died out. He was cautious not to make an abrupt move, since he didn't want to scare Draco. He knew the boy didn't like to be touched when he hadn't initiated it, and didn't want to freak him out further. But even when Draco quieted completely, Sirius didn't let go.

"Alright?" he asked softly, setting a hand on Draco's cheek, so he could look him in the eye.

The blonde nodded, rubbing at his eyes again. Sirius smiled kindly, stroking the tears away from his cheeks. _Honestly? It feels damn nice to have someone care for me like that._

Sirius opened his mouth to speak again, when suddenly they heard Molly shriek: "Sirius!"

The panic in her voice caused the man to jump up immediately, and Draco followed him, their eyes widening at how utterly _scared_ she sounded. Sirius was almost _racing_ to the door, and Draco knew the raven had a bad feeling in his gut—with good reason, too.

In the kitchen, everyone was up, Tonks leaning over the chair Remus was in when Draco had last been there. Everyone looked frightened, unsure of how to act, though Charlie was by the sink, wetting a cloth. Molly was next to the table, beckoning Sirius over in shock.

"I don't know how it happened," she said shrilly, "one minute he was fine, the other he was down on the floor!"

When the both of them moved to the other side, they saw Remus sprawled out on the floor. Apparently he'd fallen off his chair—_he fainted?_

"Oh Remus," Tonks whimpered remorsefully, crocodile tears brimming in her eyes.

"Remus," Sirius pushed her away, and if Draco hadn't been so worried, he would have inwardly cheered.

He kneeled down next to the brunette, eyes flaring with panic when Remus didn't move. Charlie offered a moist cloth to him, and he pulled Remus' head into his lap. Even though he tried to stay relaxed, his shoulders were squared and his breathing ragged, as if on the verge of hyperventilating.

"Remus, baby, wake up," he tried, petting his forehead with the damp cloth, "please love."

Slowly, Remus' eyes fluttered, opening only halfway before falling shut again. Sirius sighed in relief at the small movement, and Draco felt the tension in his own chest release, knowing that at least _he's still alive._

"Sirius?" Remus groaned, attempting to open his eyes again.

"It's alright, I'm right here," Sirius moved his arm around Remus' back, helping him to sit slightly up—the brunette groaned in protest, completely disoriented, "It's alright Moony, I just want to take you to bed."

"I'm not sure I'll be any good there now," Remus muttered weakly—though they could all hear him, and everyone was relieved that he seemed to be getting towards okay again—eyes still shut tiredly, "I'm too tired to have sex."

Sirius chortled, too relieved about his love being okay to notice Tonks' shocked expression—or the look the twins shared, _or_ the way Molly's mouth fell open in shock—and he hooked his arm into Remus' knees.

"Don't worry love, you can have me later," Sirius promised, hoisting the man up into his arms, "let's just get you upstairs for now."

"Hmm," Remus gave a faint nod, flattering closer to Sirius' chest, and like that, Sirius carried the man out of the kitchen, bridal style.

Everyone who hadn't known about the two men being madly in love with each other—_which means everyone besides me, Ron and Harry_—looked at the space where they'd been not minutes before.

"I..." Tonks was pale as snow as realisation downed on her, "Did Sirius just say that Remus could... _have him_?"

"Didn't you know?" Draco quipped maliciously, "Remus tops one out of three times."

"Is everyone in here gay?" Fred asked a bit awed, Tonks making a whining noise and sinking to the floor.

"Maybe it's the house," Bill said mysteriously, fake-suspicious, "beware little brothers, or it might even turn the two of you gay!"

Molly shook her head in disapproval when the two oldest Weasleys shook their fingers warningly at the twins. And even though the twins knew it was by no way true, they still stared at the walls rather fearfully.

**AN: Darlings my sweets, I hate long dialogue, but I could not help myself. I nearly made myself too, so I couldn't bring myself to editing Sirius' talk after I'd written it. I also have to apologise for the way I treated the dark mark. It seems to me, that leaving would never be an option, and that only a great deal of suffering and pain could set you free. In my head, the idea of burning the dark mark off your skin seems... reasonable, for some reason, as I'd believe it's one of the only ways ever to get it truly out, since it seems like something that goes deeper than mere skin. But then again, I am pretty weird. So yeah.**

**I originally had a movie-scene planned – don't I always have something planned that doesn't turn out so great? – but didn't write it out full. I wanted to, I had a pretty good idea of Leonardo turning up as well, with focus on some RonDraco fumbling going on, but I decided against it. I began writing it multiple times, but I didn't like it as much as I liked it when it was just in my head, so I cut it out. It wasn't much special either way, but I decided to explain, in case some people thought they hadn't gone to the movies at all. They did go, I just didn't let them flaunt about it.**

**No worries, I'll let these guys date in the future, I have a pretty nice scene for when they arrive at Hogwarts, almost completely written. Yes, I work with no mention-worthy organisation whatsoever. But I get the job done, don't I?**

**IMPORTANT: if you want me to update asap, you better be leaving me those lovely reviews baby ! I am putting too much effort into something I don't even know is well-liked out there... though I suppose what's important is that I enjoy. It'd just be nice to know whether you too, enjoyed it. Yesh. Review and I'll update... it's give and take darlings.**


	23. Hard and Help

23. Hard and Help

**AN: whambam, oh hot-damn, what part of party don't you understand !**

**It's been two months since my last update, but I'm going to try and update this once a month from now on. But only with some lovely reviews as the burning fuel ! We'll see how it goes, but I'll try my hardest. I still have a ton of reviews to reply, and I apologise for my laziness. I love reading reviews and I love replying, but sometimes there's just not enough time to reply !**

**PLEASE: enjoy, because this was written with so much love, baby, it's oozing off like honey! –insert little black heart here-**

**THIS IS FOR:**** Animebug: have I mentioned you ? I think I have... but what am I suppose to say ? Your review practically make me **_**cry**_** and they're constructive but loving. If I'm having a mental break-down when it comes to this story, all I have to do is read your review and I'm back on track. You truly aspire me to be a better writer, and work harder. Thank you so very much for that.**

**AND: Amanda-et-William: because he/she/they left me TWO reviews and well, that's just pretty epic :D Don't worry darlin', your pre-warm up review was pretty damn epic. AND they/she/he made me laugh, which is reason enough to be mentioned here !**

**ALAIE, of course, for being who you are. And I love you for that. I'm sorry I haven't answered your mail yet, but dude, the hanging of the ceiling thing ? It sounds pretty awesome to me !**

**And now, without further ado, I present you with : HARD AND HELP**

**(get your mind out the gutters, you pervs!)**

"Sirius? Can I come in?" Draco waited for Sirius' voice to call him, before opening the door.

Sirius sounded distant, and when Draco entered the bedroom, he was nowhere in sight. Remus was in bed, snoring softly with the blanket wrapped around his waist. The door to the bathroom was opened, and Sirius suddenly appeared in the doorway. He had changed into his pyjama trousers, and smiled when he saw the blonde.

"Were you worried?" he didn't wait for an answer, but continued: "He's okay. He's just still a bit nauseous."

"Does he have the flu or something?" Draco asked, keeping his voice at a whisper.

"I guess," Sirius rubbed his temple tiredly, "I want to take him to the healer tomorrow, and I meant to ask..." he paused, casting his eyes to the ground, "I mean, Remus meant to ask, because the healer's practice has a no-dogs policy and it's just... Dumbledore prefers if I don't go out as myself too much and..."

_Does he really want me to...?_

"I would like to accompany Remus to the healer's," Draco cut off Sirius' awkward mumbling, giving a small nod, "I'll take him first thing in the morning."

"Thank you," Sirius sighed deeply, as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest, "I wish I could go, but people are still too wary, definitely at times like these."

_It must be hard,_ Draco watched Sirius fold his arms, his expression filled with a heartfelt sort of worry. _Even though he was cleared of all charges, people still distrust him, so that now, he can't even be with the man he loves, when he is most needed._

"I'm sure it won't be anything bad," Draco said, the certainty strong in his voice, hoping to take some of Sirius' concern away.

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius was hesitant, then, he looked Draco straight in the eye and came over, enveloping him in a hug, "thank you."

Then, just as abruptly, he let go again, flopping down onto the bed. He tried grinning, but it was weak and fake.

"I can't wait to see his face when he finds out he accidentally outed us while groggy," his eyes brimmed with tears, and he once more cast them downwards.

"Sirius..." Draco approached him and when he realised that _oh fuck, he's really crying, _he let Sirius lean his head against his stomach, hugging him close, "it's okay, I'm sure he'll be fine," he soothed softly, awkwardly running his hand through the raven hair, "don't worry."

He felt Sirius nod against him, and smiled when the man pulled back a bit. His own green shirt was stained with tear streaks, but it didn't matter because Sirius was hurt and he needed to be _okay_ again.

"I'll take good care of him, I swear," Sirius nodded once more, all teary-eyed, "trust me."

After he left the bedroom, his knees buckled and he had to grab onto the wall to assure himself he wouldn't fall down. He couldn't even keep his own parents alive, _how the hell am I going to save Remus?_

On his way to his bedroom, he passed Harry's room. Ron and Harry were playing chess on the bed, Hermione and Ginny on the other, reading a magazine. They looked all happy and alright, but in his haste to reach someplace safe so he could just lie down and cry his eyes out, he didn't even notice them.

"Draco?" the blonde cursed inwardly—all he really wanted was to go _home_—but stopped nonetheless when Ron called his name a second time.

When he didn't turn around, or enter the room, Ron frowned and got off the bed.

"What's wrong?" he reached Draco and took the boy's hand, whirling him around so he could see his face—a light blue was reflected in the grey, and it told Ron something was off, "Baby? What happened?"

"It's nothing," Draco shook his head, well-aware of the three others inside the room watching him closely, "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Ron cupped the blonde's pale cheek, forcing him to lock eyes, "You don't look fine'."

Draco smiled softly, unable to stop himself, because actually, _his hand against my cheek, is all the comfort I could possibly need._

"I'm sure," this time, his voice was smooth as always, and the return of that certain sternness seemed to relieve Ron, "how did things go with your grandmother?"

"It went okay," Ron shrugged, bringing Draco's lips to his for a brief peck, "she left."

"She left?" Draco frowned, _how does that mean it went okay?_

"Her neighbours are taking care of her cats," Ron explained, giving Draco's shirt a little tug to pull him in closer, "so she had to go home."

"But you talked?" Draco pried further into the matter, seeing how Ron refused to give him any decent answers.

"She said we could talk when she comes over to help us clean the house this weekend," he tried giving the blonde another peck, but Draco quirked an eyebrow.

"Didn't you clean it already?" he asked, confused.

"Mum says dust gathers sooner when there's no one around to move it," the redhead cupped Draco's face again, tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair away, "where were you headed to?"

"Bedroom," Draco answered curtly, flattering his cheek back into the scarred palm.

"Alright," Ron gave a smirk, connecting their lips again, "I said I'd sleep here, so I'm going to stay with Harry, okay?"

The blatantly stated remark shook Draco from his renewed happy-bubble and his figure went rigid. _Now that he's got Harry, I'm no longer needed._

"Yes, of course," Draco nodded again, keeping his face straight.

That was very hard to do when his body was shaking like a straw. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been thrown at him, chilling him to the bone. He felt rage bubble up in his body, and no matter how stupid it seemed, it was like a slap to his face, as if he had been _betrayed._

"Hurry though," Ron murmured, his hands shifting on the narrow hips.

All Draco could think was _let go_. He didn't want to make a scene in front of the three other teens, but that didn't mean he would just let it slide.

"Hurry? What for?" he sneered, and Ron frowned.

"Just get your pyjamas and come back," the redhead nuzzled his ear as if trying to calm him, oblivious to Draco's inner turmoil, "I missed you."

"Why would I come here for?" Draco pulled away from Ron angrily—_why the hell isn't he getting it? _—Ron's eyes widening in panic.

"I just said I promised Harry we'd sleep here," he said, a bit timid at Draco's behaviour, trying his best not to sound like a know-it-all—_or even more likely, trying his hardest not to start a fight_, "I figured it'd be okay, because we've been sleeping in your room all this time."

"I thought..." _he wants me to stay with him?_ And just like that, he realised how _stupid_ he'd been. It was like a ton of bricks had landed in his stomach and he swallowed thickly, trying not to sneer angrily as he said: "It's fine, I'll be right back."

"Draco..." Draco turned to continue towards his room, trying to hide his surprise.

It was a bit embarrassing. Did he have so little faith in his lover that he expected him to just _dump_ him like that? _I can't be blamed,_ Draco reasoned childishly, _it's happened before._

"Baby!" Ron took his hand to stop him again, even though he'd only made it halfway down the hall, "What's wrong?"

"I thought you wanted to sleep _alone_, alright," Draco snapped, angrier at himself than at Ron, "please just let me go."

"No," Ron hooked a finger resolutely in the waistband of Draco's jeans—during the course of the day Draco had changed into his jean shorts, keeping the green shirt on to go with them—forcing the smaller body into his own, "I'm sorry if I made it seem like I was planning on letting go, because I'm not."

"I get it," Draco tried freeing himself, to no avail, "Ronald, _please_."

Ron ignored the plea, turning the boy in his arms so they were face-to-face. It pained Ron to see him so upset, and he wanted to fix that, no matter what.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, squirming in the tight embrace, but kept still when Ron's hand set on his neck, his thumb putting pressure on the sensitive spot behind his ear. The redhead was smiling, and that alone made Draco want to forget about his own stupidity and smile along.

Delicately, Ron lowered his lips to Draco's, releasing his strong hold on his lover's body at the same time, to show him that if he insisted on leaving, he could do so.

Instead, Draco wrapped his arms around Ron's neck, opening his mouth to invite Ron's tongue, turning the kiss passionate instead from the former sweet and innocent. Ron moaned against Draco's lips, hands going back up to touch his lover. One slid under the back of Draco's green shirt, settling between his shoulder blades. Draco felt his hair stand to attention at the warm palm pressed there, and he purred hoarsely, adding a little teeth to the kiss to compensate. The feel of the broad hands cupping his frame felt so _good, _he was disappointed to realise they would have to stop eventually.

"You don't _really_ have to go get your pj's, do you?" Ron panted flatly when they parted—sounding out-of-breath and pleading, "You can borrow a pair of mine. Come and hold my hand while I play chess?"

And that was about the cutest thing Ron had ever said, but Draco could still not help but chuckle, _bastard can't go without me for even a minute._

"You want me to hold your hand while you play?" Draco teased, pushing his hips to Ron's.

"Mhm," the redhead nodded, nuzzling into Draco's neck, "and I want a victory snog if I win."

"Fair enough," Draco grinned, and Ron gave him a small peck in the corner of his mouth, leering down at him.

"Maybe we should go back to your bedroom instead," Ron said hoarsely, hands roaming the pale back, "just for a little while."

He kissed his lover again to convey the meaning of his words, almost hungrily sampling the other boy's mouth. Draco tsked, biting at his lips when they parted.

"I don't think so," he smirked, turning the boy back towards Harry's bedroom instead—the hand on his back abruptly forced to remove itself, "a little abstinence will do you good."

"Tease," Ron complained—his voice going off into a groan when Draco pushed against his back to get him to move, fingers wriggling into the waistband of his jeans.

"Aren't I though? Come on, almighty Gryffindor," Draco's eyes gleamed mischievously, "show me that Gryffindor willpower!"

Ron threw a glare over his shoulder, but it was only half-hearted, the feel of those hands on his hips disabling him to show any real anger.

They arrived back at the bedroom, Ron's glare still in place. Draco still had his smirk on, and when he withdrew his hands from the side of Ron's jeans, he let his fingers graze the redhead's skin, then gave him a push towards the bed where Harry was waiting. Ron gave the blonde a last look before flopping back next to the chessboard situated in front of Harry.

He beckoned Draco over, and Ginny gave a pout when the blonde sat down next to her brother—she had been hoping to spend some time with him—while Hermione scrunched up her nose at the sight of him.

Ron folded his hand into Draco's, brushing his thumb across the pale palm—like he was merely reassuring himself that the blonde's skin was still as soft to the touch as it had been before.

"My turn, right mate?" Ron asked, more for confirmation than an actual question.

None the less, Harry nodded, explicitly looking away from Draco. It was a bit useless, honestly, but Draco decided that if him being there made Ron feel okay, it would just have to do. No matter the fact that he could feel Hermione's glare into his back, and that Harry looked away from their entwined hands.

Ginny was the only one able to act normal, or at least so it seemed. Since Hermione had gone instantly quiet when Draco entered the room, the Weaslette soon joined her brother and the other two boys on the bed, watching Ron's Rook destroy one of Harry's Knights. Draco had thought she would want to blabber about something insignificant, but for once, she kept her mouth shut, and everyone just watched the two boys play in quiet.

"How is mister Lupin?" Ginny eventually asked—Harry looked up in question, wondering who she was speaking to.

Even Ron halted, retracting his eyes from the sight of Harry's Pawn sliding across the board to look at the blonde instead.

"What makes you think I know?" Draco inquired, a delicate eyebrow rising.

Ginny just shrugged unapologetically.

"You either went to Sirius' bedroom or you went to your own," she explained. A red lock fell in front of her eyes and she pushed it back behind her ear, her brown eyes locking with Draco's, "if you'd gone to your own you would've changed. Or brought a book. So?"

"He was sleeping," Draco settled for the truth, but left out Sirius' request—he wasn't sure if it would be such a good idea to mention it with Harry in the room—giving Ron's hand a little squeeze, "freckles, it's your turn."

Ron blinked stupidly two times, before turning back to the board, ignoring the red that graced his cheeks. He squeezed back, and ordered his Rook to take the position of Harry's earlier-moved Pawn. Harry and Ginny were still looking at Draco though, and it innerved him.

"Does that mean you knew?" Ginny asked, and for just a single second, Draco was lost.

_Of course,_ he wanted to brain himself with the chessboard when he finally realised what Ginny was on about, _Remus did out them while groggy._

"Yes," he said simply, voice strict, as if challenging Ginny to comment, "Sirius felt forced to tell me. Since he is my legal guardian now, and they live together, it would only be a matter of time before I found out."

"I just don't understand how they could be dating!" Ginny said hot-headedly, her cheeks burning up in anger, "They're grown men for peeves sakes! Aren't those phases supposed to be over by now?"

At this, Draco couldn't help but chortle maliciously—Ron's mouth dropped wide-open—_and here I was, thinking she agreed that it's a-okay to be gay._

"Are you going to be this way each time a guy turns out to like cock?" he questioned, his eyes hardening at the insulted glare he got from Hermione, "I thought you liked Sirius and Remus? You should be happy for them!"

Ginny stood rather abruptly, stomping her foot.

"Happy!" she repeated, her voice shrill, _she sounds oddly like her mother when she does that,_ "They could be off marrying nice, respectable women!"

"They don't _want_ nice, respectable women," Draco retaliated briskly, and she backed off slightly at his tone, "they want each other."

"So what about Tonks?" Ginny snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest as if she had offered him some great riddle.

He only laughed again, eyes cold as ice.

"Tonks is a stupid hack anyway," he said simply—which caused Ginny to fluster further.

"What did she ever do to you?" she stomped her foot again, having no other way to express her frustration.

"She tried to get inside Remus' pants, but they're reserved for Sirius," before she could interrupt with another one of her insolent accusations, he continued: "I'm going to tell you this once Weaslette, and you better listen because I'm not telling you twice. They've been apart for thirteen fucking years and to them the other still tastes of sunshine and daisies! How can you even _care_ about the fact that they're two guys not off marrying respectable women when they are so obviously head-over for each other?"

Ginny thought for a moment, but her jaw was set firmly, and Draco knew she would not differ from her views. He couldn't help but wonder, _are we just a phase to her?_

"You mean to say that you're only okay with us because you think it's a _phase?_" when the silence was broken, it was neither Ginny nor Draco who spoke—it was _Ron._

His voice was almost too quiet to be heard and when Draco turned to him, his face had gone so pale his freckles stood out awkwardly.

"Ron..." Ginny sighed, glaring at the floor, "I like Draco, really, I like him a lot, he's _really_ nice," she said as if he wasn't even there, _which I am, you bitch,_ "but we all know the two of you aren't going to last forever. It's probably just infatuation and—"

Harry stood suddenly, throwing Ginny off guard and she shut up immediately. Draco was too busy glowering angrily at the Weaslette to see him, but he could only guess that he was looking quite upset. He wondered if he was as hurt as Draco was by the girl's words, because even though Harry had been angry with Sirius, _it's still his godfather, and he still loves him._

"Leave," Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Harry was ruthless, "_now_."

She gave Ron a last look before heading out—slamming the door on her way—and to Draco's surprise, Hermione didn't follow. He had expected her to side with her friend on this, but she came over to Harry's bed as well, looking unsure of how to act now.

When Draco turned back to Ron, he was still pale, staring at the place his sister had been standing not so long ago.

"Ronald..." the blonde began cautiously, since neither of the two other teens seemed all too willing to take the first step.

_With good reason too._

"It's fine," Ron snapped harshly, turning his eyes towards the linen, where he plucked at the lint absentmindedly.

"Don't you snap at me," Draco sneered with just as much venom, "I'm being nice you stupid sod, come here."

His voice held no room for argument—Harry and Hermione cowering under the hard tone—and Ron looked up pathetically. Then, when Draco least expected it, Ron pulled him into his lap, one arm around Draco's waist, and buried his head in the crook of the blonde's neck.

They could all clearly see Ron's spine trembling under his shirt, his back bent oddly so he could rest his face against his lover. Then they could hear him sob, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a look that clearly showed they really did not like it when Ron was unhappy.

And since Draco didn't like it when Ron was unhappy either, he decided to agree with the two others, for once.

"It's alright," Draco tried sounding soothing, but he was very bad at comforting and he was painfully aware of it, "it's fine."

"No it's not," Ron sobbed almost incoherently—he detached his face from Draco's shoulder momentarily, his cheeks wet and still pale, only his nose red from crying—his eyes fierce with anger, "shewas _nice _to you! And all this time she was secretly hoping we'd break up! How is that _fine_?"

"Alright, it's not fine," Draco rolled his eyes, cupping the pale cheek in his hand, "but really though, it is. Because fuck her, we'll just have to prove her wrong," he brushed away some of the tears, _why can't I say anything nice? This can't be what he needs,_ scolding at himself for not managing to make his tone sound more compassionate, "it'll be easy. All we have to do is outlive her, and we can start hating each other after that, alright?"

Ron gave a weak smile.

"You're a daft little bugger Malfoy," he said, no malice, "can I please touch you again?"

"Of course," Draco gave a nod, wrapping his arms around Ron, so this time it was him pulling the redhead into him, "just don't cry, no one wants that."

He hoped the other teens would know something better to say, and wasn't disappointed. Harry patted Ron's back while Draco stroked his hair, muttering: "Ginny'll come 'round mate. She really does like 'm, it's probably just the surprise of finding out about Sirius and Remus."

Draco nodded in agreement, and Ron lifted his head slightly off the boy's chest, looking up.

"It was still a mean thing to say," he frowned when Draco wriggled in the embrace oddly, trying to sit into a better position, "are you uncomfortable baby?" he asked—and Draco envied that voice of his, laced with nothing but the deepest compassion.

"Yes," he answered truthfully, but when Ron moved to sit up, he glared and pulled him back into his body—leaning back against the foot of the bed with a pillow propped behind him to make it easier on himself—frowning: "I didn't say you could leave, did I?"

Ron didn't protest—more of the contrary, really—and flattered his head back into the smaller chest. His socked feet almost reached the head of the bed, and Draco was once more reminded of how damn tall the redhead was.

"That was really nice of you," Ron said suddenly, out of the blue.

"What?" Draco frowned again, _he really likes me stroking his hair? _"The hair thing?"

"Hair thing?" Ron sounded confused and shook his head, "No, I mean, sticking up for Sirius and Remus."

"You're joking, right?" Draco's frown only grew when he saw that the redhead was serious, _but he can't be. Of course I'd stick up for them after all they did!_ "Honestly, Ronald, and then I'm the daft one? They let me stay here, they gave me a room, Sirius is a nosy bitch even when he doesn't have to be, Remus always cares—it's the least I could do."

"Ron's right," Harry interrupted, and Draco looked up to find him staring at them, "you didn't _have_ to. No matter how nice they were to you."

"They did the same for me," Draco shrugged, and it was _weird_, but Ron was there and that made it _okay._

They sat and talked some more—Draco content to just listen to the voice of his lover, which returned to its usual cheery self with each word he spoke—even Hermione joining in occasionally. When the clock indicated that it had passed eleven, Hermione bid them a goodnight, and when she left, for once, she didn't turn to glare at Draco.

And as much as he really didn't like her, it was still nice of her not to look at him in disdain.

Harry and Ron decided to finish their game before they went off the bed, the redhead forcing Draco to lie down next to him as they played. It was fascinating to see Ron so focused, and in all honesty, it was also nice to see that the-boy-who-just-wouldn't-die was at least bad at _something,_ namely, chess. From the way Harry was losing, Draco concluded that he had lost before, since he was taking it rather good—if it had been Draco, he would have probably pushed the chessboard away and snogged the redhead until the game had been forgotten, but all in all, he was happy Harry decided not to use such a tactic.

"So," Harry looked up at Draco when it was Ron's turn again—trying to make eye contact, though the blonde was looking at the board too intently—and he scraped his throat, "I mean, I know about the being into each other since whatever year, but... _how_ did this happen?"

He gave an uncertain wave to the both of them in general, and Ron looked up with a little curious frown. Draco raised an eyebrow when he realised the question was directed at him, trying to remember what exactly the raven had said, since he had only been half-listening.

"First, we had an argument," Draco said with a look of concentration, remembering their heated discussion in the closet, "then he stalked me, and then he attacked me in the library," he finished with a nod and a quirk of his lips, "that was it."

"I did not stalk him," Ron assured, giving Draco a glare, "I didn't stalk you!" he repeated to the blonde, "You were sad and I was making you happy!"

"Well, that's one way to put it, I suppose," Draco shrugged, "it's still stalking."

"But..." Harry drew their attention back to him, and he seemed utterly puzzled, "how does an attack in the library bring you to being..." he indicated them again, and Draco had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"I was angry because I thought Bill and Charlie were into him," Ron further explained, biting his lip, "and I was afraid that I'd let my chance slide, so I... er..." he paused, blushing fiercely—Draco grinned, "_kissed_ him."

"Just like that," Harry looked stunned, "really?"

Ron nodded in confirmation, a goofy grin on his face. He moved a piece across the board, cornering Harry's King.

"Check," he said, more to bring Harry's attention back to the game than anything else.

Harry absentmindedly moved his King, still mulling the newfound information over, and with the next move, Ron had him trapped completely. He grinned proudly, before declaring checkmate and watching Harry's King surrender.

"That's it for me mate," Ron stretched with a jaw-cracking yawn, "'m exhausted."

"Yeah, me too," Harry moved the chessboard to his bedside table.

He yawned as well, and Draco stood languidly, straightening the folds from his t-shirt. Ron followed suit and went to his side of the bedroom to turn into his pyjamas. Draco sat down by the foot of the redhead's bed instead, watching the tall boy change. He pulled his shirt off over his head, revealing the white undershirt and a strip of exposed flesh.

"Come 'ere," Draco muttered silently, reaching out and pulling Ron between his legs, using the boy's worn-out belt for leverage.

He undid the buckle easily—having done it many times before—and then worked on the two buttons while Ron exposed his entire chest, only to cover it back up again with his auburn pyjamas. Draco undid the zipper on Ron's blue jeans, and pulled them down the strong thighs, until Ron hooked his hands in them and balanced on one leg to kick them off. He remained in his flannel boxer shorts, and removed his socks one by one, throwing them together on a pile with his jeans and shirts.

Harry had completely dressed as well—with his back turned to them at all time, as Draco supposed all straight boys did, _Blaise and I certainly never do, though it seems to be a trade of Vincent and Gregory_—and flopped down on his bed with his legs crossed one over the other. He watched his best friend and the blonde interact, and though Draco pretended not to notice, he couldn't help it.

"Would you like my sweater?" Ron asked—in the same silent voice they all seemed to use now, like it was too late to speak in a normal tone.

"It's too hot for a sweater," Draco remarked idly, lifting his arms above his head to assist Ron, the redhead sliding his hands under Draco's t-shirt and bringing it up until it was pulled off completely.

He let his hands wander around the pale chest longer than was strictly necessary, brushing a line all the way down Draco's sternum with his thumb. Draco unzipped his fly and belt buckle, showing off a sliver of his black briefs, before tucking up one knee to his chest so he could take off his socks.

"'s right," Ron scratched the back of his head, licking his lips—consumed completely by the sight in front of him. Draco feigned ignorance, adjusting the position of his hips to push his shorts down his thighs.

"Help me," Draco ordered, pretending to be unable to slide them down completely.

Ron got onto his knees, kneeling in front of the blonde, and ran his hands once down each thigh, before setting them on the jeans. He tugged them down slow inch by slow inch, his fingers stroking the pale flesh for his own pleasure.

"A shirt?" Ron proposed, licking his lips once more when the pale legs were completely bare—he laid his hand atop one of the thighs, pressing it closer to feel that delicious skin ripple under his fingers.

"Mhm," Draco gave a nod, his eyes falling shut at the cautious touch, "will do."

The redhead was unwilling to leave Draco's side, so he reached behind him, opening a drawer and randomly pulling out a shirt. It would be far too big for Draco, he knew that already, but at that point, he didn't really care, as long as he didn't have to take his hands off those marvellous thighs.

"Here," Ron handed the shirt over, fingers spreading the boy's legs so he could slide them over the hot skin.

Draco shuddered vulnerably, pulling the shirt over his head in one go, focusing on the touch alone. It was so old and baggy, that it fell down one of his shoulders, and that the sleeves—which were supposed to reach halfway his upper arm—stretched to just beyond his elbow.

"Your hands are cold," Draco remarked vaguely, "come lie down Ron, you know we can't right now."

"I know," Ron sighed, remorseful, "but you still owe me a victory snog."

Draco opened his eyes to find Ron staring at him intensely, no playfulness, all serious. _He really doesn't mind me kissing him in front of Harry?_

He cupped Ron's cheek with one hand, holding the tan neck with the other, and brought Ron's mouth up for a kiss. It was short, but Draco still parted his lips when Ron's tongue licked against them in question. He pulled back almost as soon as their tongues touched, grinning.

"Now sleep," he ordered, crawling onto the bed completely—the hands abruptly forced to leave his body—leaving Ron behind in a mess on the floor.

Ron grumbled something about 'cock tease', though it was probably nothing Draco hadn't heard before, and then followed the shorter boy into the bed. Draco pushed back the blankets to crawl under them, turning onto his side into a comfortable position. From the second Ron lay down behind him, he felt the boy's large hand hold his hip, and Ron inched forwards so he could feel the heat radiating off the blonde's body without making him feel too clingy.

"'night Harry," Ron called, looking over at his friend's bed.

Harry was still staring at him, and he shook his head when he noticed his friend's lips had moved.

"Yeah, 'night," Harry repeated, distracted, and crawled under the blankets himself, switching off the lights.

The room went oddly quiet—aside from a snoring mirror by the side of Harry's bed—and if Draco just pretended he was back in his old bed, in his old room, in his old house with his old family, he would be just fine.

Draco awoke from his peaceful slumber with a bit of a start—a great shrieking noise waking him brutally—and groaned, turning around in the bed. He bumped into Ron by accident, the redhead still fast asleep, on his back with one hand on his stomach, the other above his head.

At the feeling of a body bumping into his own, Ron murmured something incoherently, turning onto his side towards Draco. He let out a quiet snore and huffed, eyes still closed. Draco blinked a couple of times, before opening his eyes tiredly. Their faces were separated by mere inches, and the redhead was so close, Draco could count the number of eyelashes, or even get a closer look at those tinny, almost imperceptible freckles on his eyelids.

His lips were wet and parted, his breath fanning against Draco's cheek. He made the perfect picture. _Beautiful._

Draco made amends to get up and leave the bed, but as soon as he moved even an inch towards the edge of the bed, Ron stopped him. The redhead cuddled closer into Draco's body, and muttered drowsily: "'morning Drake."

Draco watched those big brown eyes open slowly, a lazy smile on the handsome face. He still looked tired, but the knowledge that Draco was about to leave him caused him to want to be more attentive to his surroundings.

He leaned up to press his lips to Draco's tenderly, enclosing his arms around the narrow hips to prevent him from doing anything but stay right in his arms. Instead of getting up, as Draco had planned, he kissed his lover again, letting his hands touch any free skin on their own accord.

Ron muttered something senselessly into the kiss, the vibrations causing Draco to tremble rather pleasantly. Before either of them was sure how it happened, they were pressed up together, Ron's hands travelling underneath the shirt Draco was wearing. Their mouths barely separated, kisses growing more heated by the second. Draco's senses were getting an overload of too much stimulation at once, and it seemed as if he could no longer think straight—a new wave of _emotion_ overwhelming him whenever he tried to concentrate.

The redhead bunched up Draco's shirt at his chest, pushing it up so he could freely touch the pale skin. Draco threw his head back and moaned when the rough fingertips brushed past his nipples and down to his hipbones. His lips followed the trail, and Ron groaned when he bit into the blonde's hip, revelling in the feeling of having him so close.

"_Damn_, Drake," Draco gasped, Ron's tongue tending to the newly made wound, "missed you so much."

All Draco could do was purr in agreement, parting his thighs to easily adjust Ron's burly body in between. He was halfway through trying to rip Ron's shirt off—the red head steadily making its way down to Draco's briefs—when he suddenly realised something was dreadfully _off_.

_Oh fuck, Harry._

And that was not a very nice thing to think when your lover was about to go down on you, but Draco didn't have very much of a choice now, did he?

"Ron, wait—" his protests were cut off with a harsh gasp when Ron felt against his thighs—his breathing hitched in his throat, Ron's lips caressing just below his navel.

"Draco, _please_," he could hear the pure need in Ron's voice as he begged, the warm breath bringing an odd sensation to the wet skin, "I want you so bad."

"We—" he groaned again, Ron carefully wrapping one of the pale legs around his own shoulder, so he could travel down lower, "we can't," he panted roughly, hand tugging at the red hair as if trying to make him stop—though it only made him look more needy, his chest heaving—while he pushed himself up onto his elbows, "_Ronald_..."

Ron moaned his name against his thigh, nibbling softly, and Draco was lost.

"Oh Merlin," he looked down at the redhead, and watching him lick the reddened skin was even _worse_, because how could he resist that? "Ronald, don't _do that_," he threw his head back in a growl, "it feels too nice, you insensitive sod!"

His stomach quivered helplessly and he fletxed his thighs as if that would help—it only made Ron moan his name again, attacking the flesh with renewed fervour. His thumbs brushed Draco's side, making him feel tingly all over, and then he hooked them in the side of the black briefs and...

...there was a cough.

Ron stilled immediately—_had I known that all it would take was cough..._—his eyes widening in shock.

Draco felt very aware of himself suddenly—his skin was sweaty and he was sure his cheeks were blushing with want—his legs spread wide to fit Ronald's figure. It was rather embarrassing, that he couldn't even resist a stupid redhead. _Stupid Weasel._

Harry sat up straight in bed, some early rays of sun illuminating the room partly. His hair was a tangled mob, and he was rubbing at his eyes, _luckily, no glasses._

"Fuck," Ron groaned pitifully—quite different than that otherwise sexy groaning noise, as it sounded so weak now—dropping his head to Draco's stomach in resignation.

"I think not," Draco said distastefully, pushing the shirt back down to cover up his chest.

Ron huffed, unwinding the blonde's leg from around his neck grudgingly—Draco ruffled the red manes, comforting the boy for his almost-but-just-not-yet shag. It seemed to help, Ron flattering back up into the hand with a content purr. He looked at his friend and gave the boy an apologetic look, Harry searching the bedside table for his specs.

"Thank Merlin you weren't wearing your glasses," Ron said, praising whoever was up there for his friend's bad eyesight.

"I dunno mate," Harry fixed them on his nose, giving a small frown, "a red dot going down on a yellow dot... it isn't exactly rocket science, is it?"

Ron and Draco's gazes locked and within the second they burst out laughing—Ron's hoarse chuckle mixing with Draco's chortles and then Harry was joining and they were just pretty much giggling their asses off and Draco had no idea why but it was just too damn _funny_.

And in a really rather ungainly, strange and tediously uncomfortable way, it was actually _nice_.

_Damn this, getting all sappy,_ but he couldn't find himself to really disapprove of it, because nice was good, and good was just not-bad, and not-bad was always desired.

"I have to say Malfoy," _Poth—_Harry managed through sniggers, "of all the things I'd imagined doing over summer, this was not one of them."

He waved a hand around the room, distinctly indicating the room, and them together in it, then their laughter and the general rather _okay_ feeling that lingered there.

"That makes two of us Potter," Draco retorted, with no real malice—how could he, honestly, when he felt so... _bubbly._

Ron was grinning broadly, and leaned forward to push a hard kiss to Draco's lip—they were still chuckling weakly, and the attempted kiss caused another fit of giggles—biting at his chin afterwards. Their hands were locked and it was _safe,_ because for a minute it didn't matter what had happened before, because this was then and now and that was alright.

Draco pretended not to feel the empty feeling settle in his gut, and instead let laughter overtake him when Ron's fingers attacked his sides—because if his mind could shut off for long enough, he could just be blissfully unaware and happy. And he wanted that so badly it hurt.

They ended up getting half-dressed to go down for breakfast. It was still very early, but Molly would be in the kitchen already, and they were in no mood to try and get some more sleep. Draco just pulled his shorts over his briefs, deciding he would get changed properly later, seeing as he had no other clothes to dress in, unless he wanted to go back to his room first. Ron's pyjama shirt covered him up pretty well either way, so he didn't think it would be all that bad. He was warm and comfortable, and that was all that mattered.

Harry changed into his jeans, but kept his shirt on as well—Draco gathered that he only changed his trousers because the pants legs were much too long, and he often tripped over them—standing with his back towards them as he tugged on the garment. Ron put on a tank top instead of his pyjama shirt, since he was too hot in the thick fabric. He looked gorgeous, as only Ron could, in his too small trousers and tight-fitting top. He pulled his pants down a bit so they covered up his ankles more properly, and Draco truly wondered why he bothered, since they now rode too low on his hips. A bit of his boxers showed, and Draco immediately wanted to kiss all that was revealed all over.

Ron grinned proudly when he saw Draco's predatory look, knowing he was the cause of it. Even though he was pleased to be on the receiving end of that look, he couldn't help but blush, the look sending a shiver up his spine. When Draco noticed the blush, he grinned. Ron glanced over to make sure Harry had his back turned—buttoning up his jeans—and then approached the blonde. Draco raised his eyebrow curiously, the smirk still in place, as if daring him to make a move.

He cupped the back of the pale neck and pulled the other boy in for a fleeting kiss. Then, when Draco went to pull back, he wrapped his arm around the slim waist and kissed him more passionately, opening his mouth to welcome Draco's tongue.

They parted to catch their breaths, and Ron beamed with a wheeze. His cheeks were red at the boldness of kissing the blonde in front of his best friend, and Draco thought it was rather funny how easily Ron blushed. He had always known of course, but the fact that a rosy hue tinting his cheeks did amazing things for Draco's lower abdomen was a somewhat recent development, so he decided to enjoy the moment rather than debate on it. And maybe he wasn't always okay, but Ron made him _feel_ okay, so that was good, right?

When they turned and found that Harry had been watching all the while—mouth opened in shock—Ron had the decency to blush even deeper. There was an awkward moment—the air suddenly tense, even though Draco didn't feel shamed or embarrassed—before they all simultaneously headed over to the door.

They talked about Quidditch, and it felt almost normal, really. As if Draco was just another teenage boy, not different from the rest. And that was a big fat lie, but for five minutes, it didn't have to be, and this make-shift real world, was perhaps better than any true reality could be at that point.

The kitchen was completely deserted except for Molly and Arthur, the latter seated tiredly at the head of the table. Molly was making her husband breakfast, and Draco assumed he had been working all night. She gave them a smile in greeting, fetching them three cups of tea.

"Misses Black woke you guys up?" Arthur asked, sleep lacing his voice.

"Was she that awful shrieking noise?" Draco queried, only half-interested though he managed to sound fascinated.

"Yes, her portrait is hidden behind tapestry," Arthur explained. His eyes were glazed over from exhaustion and Draco truly felt sorry for him, having to work all night only to be woken from any sort of nap by some old dead women made of paint, "she likes to screech bloody murder when disturbed."

"I didn't hear it," Harry frowned, and he scratched his head while he paused to think.

"I did," Draco sat down next to Ron—who had been silent—brows raised delicately, "but it stopped before I could gather what it was."

"She only woke you?" Molly interfered, her mother-bird pose suddenly full on.

Draco nodded and Harry took a place opposite to Ron. Molly rolled her eyes.

"And you thought it proper to wake the others?" she pried sternly.

Before Draco could explain that he _hadn't_ woken Ron and Harry, _well, not really, any way,_ Harry chuckled: "actually, Ron did."

At this, Ron spluttered indignantly, and Molly turned to him instead—her hands placed on her hips.

"He moaned," Harry shrugged as if it was the most logical thing on earth, and Molly's mouth dropped.

Ron scowled.

"I did not _moan_!" he almost shrieked, the tops of his ears turning red, "it was Draco!"

Draco glared at the redhead, but Ron did not realise or care and encircled the lithe waist with his tan arms and pulled the boy into his lap.

"I don't think so mate," Harry commented matter-of-factly, his hand reaching for the toast, "since that'd imply he was moaning his own name."

Ron spluttered again, with even less dignity than the last time, ears burning. Unconsciously, he squeezed Draco tighter, making him squirm, his mother's eyes blaring.

Fortunately, before Molly could give her son a lecture about indecent behaviour, Remus entered the kitchen. He had already dressed, and was wearing an old pair of jeans with a t-shirt. He wore a grey jacket as well, but it was left hanging open, since it was a very hot morning. He still looked considerably pale, and generally miserable, though his face lit up when he saw Draco.

"I was hoping you'd be here," he took a seat, giving the two adults a nod in greeting, "when I passed by your room it was empty."

"Are you feeling any better?" Draco could not help but sound worried,_ even though it's not as compassionate as others would be_.

"A little, thank you," he looked tired even as he said it, and Ron exchanged a look with Harry—everyone knew he was lying.

"Have some tea Remus," Molly gently thrust a cup into his hands and gave his shoulder a tender squeeze, "will Sirius be coming down soon?"

"I don't know," Remus sipped the hot brim cautiously, "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

When an uncomfortable silence settled across the table, Remus looked up. Molly had her hands on her hips again, utterly sceptical. Arthur gave a knowing smile and Ron and Harry shared a look again,_ stupid bitches, think I can't see._

"He didn't tell you, did he?" it sounded more like a statement than a question, and Draco inwardly rolled his eyes, _typically Sirius_, before explaining: "You outed yourself while groggy."

Remus choked on his tea and coughed violently. Everyone thought it would be best to let him sink in the words before reacting.

"I... _what?_"

"When Sirius offered to bring you upstairs after you had fainted you said you were too tired to have sex," Draco continued in a monotone voice, even though Remus was obviously shocked—no one but a Malfoy could declare such a thing while keeping an absolute straight face, "the idea to have Sirius later seemed to appeal to you though."

"I _didn't_!" Remus groaned and bowed his head in shame.

Draco patted his back in sympathy.

"It was quite amusing," he said sincerely, "Tonks almost cried."

"Draco!" Molly pursed her lips tightly, "There's no need to be cruel!"

"She was lusting after her cousin's man!" Draco snapped, "Serves her right!"

"She does not _lust after me,_" Remus rolled his eyes, "honestly, you're paranoid, Sirius says the same thing, it's ridiculous."

"Sure, she's not lusting after you," Draco's eyebrows rose, "just like Severus doesn't lust after Regulus either."

"How..." Remus' eyes widened and he stuttered: "how do you know _that_."

"Honestly, Remus, he told me," Draco gave a wave off his hand as if this was all trivial, "and there is the fact that Blacks apparently like hanging pictures of gay dudes on their walls."

"You..." Remus almost dropped his cup at the last remark, and his eyes locked onto Draco's. Ron's hold on him suddenly went from comfortable to too strict, like he realised that whatever they were talking about was something important, and he needed to offer comfort, "You know about Lucius?"

"I've always known," Draco gave a shrug of his shoulders, leaning back into Ron's broad chest, "it's just that thanks to Sirius' memories now I know who."

There was a sudden silence while Remus tried to think of what to say. Molly and Arthur were processing the new information and piecing everything that had just been said together, while Harry looked generally confused. Draco couldn't see Ron, but if the tightness around his waist was any indication, the redhead was probably panicking.

"This will sound stupid," Remus spoke quietly, and completely unexpectedly grasped Draco's hand—Draco had to muster up everything he had not to pull back, since he didn't like sudden contact, _but it's Remus, this should be okay,_ "even though I liked your father, I never knew you were... _this_ close."

"That's okay," Draco gave a curt nod, "it was either confide in me, or confide in mother. I was the easy choice, it always seemed normal to me."

Remus looked saddened, _but please don't. I'm okay most of the times. I sleep pretty well these days. And if I don't think about it, I can't feel the sting, so that's good, isn't it? Can't you be happy that I'm pretending to be happy?_

"Would you like to go now?" Draco asked rather abruptly, _if you ignore this conversation ever took place, it could just be okay again_.

It took a minute for Remus to understand what Draco was talking about. Then, he took another sip of his tea and nodded.

"Yes, please," he stood, "if that's okay?"

"Sure, but I need to dress first."

Draco attempted to unwrap Ron's arms from around himself, but the boy panicked and squeezed tighter instead. With a frown, he turned to stare at the redhead in question. Ron had concern etched on his face and his eyes expressed a sort of shock Draco could not place, _he doesn't want me to go? He's concerned? Why can I not read your emotions like I can everyone else's?_

"Ron," Draco brought his lips to the redhead's ear, trying to insure no one heard him speak,_ probably looks like we're sentimentally cuddling, but what a Malfoy's got to do, a Malfoy's got to do,_ "I will be back soon. Don't worry."

"Why?" it was a bare whisper, and Draco could feel it against his neck.

"I'll tell you later," he pressed a kiss to Ron's cheek, not caring whether it was sentimental or not, "alright?"

Ron obediently released his hold on Draco's waist, but was reluctant, not wanting him to leave. But then when Draco winked at him—a perfectly private wink no one else ever got to see—the redhead grinned, all earlier worries disappearing like snow before the sun.

"You shouldn't be angry with Sirius," when they reached the first floor, Draco broke the silence—although it had been a comfortable silence—giving the man beside him a look, "he was worried."

"I'm not _angry_," Remus doubted, _pale cheeks and sweaty brow, he must be feeling sick,_ "can't believe that prat let me walk in unprepared though!"

"Even though I don't doubt that he would love to tease you with something like that," Draco gave a cheeky grin at which Remus scowled—_like he does with Sirius, too,_ "this time, he probably _was_ too worried to care about something unimportant like that."

"It's not unimportant," Remus groaned, bringing his fingers to rub the bridge of his nose, "I would've preferred if they found out differently."

"But now you won't have to worry about it," Draco opened the door to his bedroom, gesturing the brunette to follow him, "it's been done. Nothing you can do about it now. Please sit."

He pointed towards the seat close to the bed, still there from when he had moved it the other day. Remus gladly took the offer, and was relieved he could sit again. Draco hurried in getting a pair of jeans from his wardrobe, finding long jeans more befitting for a Healer's visit then his shorts. Considering it was a hot day, he chose a white t-shirt to go with it. He tried looking like a sort of person that could be Remus' son, _and that's stupid, because I like being dad's son, but casual is the way to go for this sort of situation._ He brought a light jacket, just to be sure, and almost felt sorry he had hurried to get dressed when Remus got up weakly.

Before they left the house, they made another stop by the kitchen. Arthur had gone to bed, and Molly was doing the dishes. Sirius had arrived there, and looked pleased to see Remus—until the brunette gave him a smack across the head and he yelped.

Harry and Ron looked up in shock, and Sirius pouted.

"What was that for!"

"You know very well what that was for," Remus snatched a couple of pieces of toast and handed them to Draco, "how could you not tell me I outed us while groggy!"

"I didn't want to unnecessarily concern you," Sirius said, his bottom lip still stuck out, "hurry back, alright?"

"Don't be nice, you wanker," Remus said with a scowl, giving another poke for good measure into the man's cheek, "we'll hurry."

Sirius smiled contently and the corner of Draco's mouth quirked up at the men's behaviour. Their interaction was like nothing he'd ever seen before, and it was always nice to see them talk, or do anything together, really. Even insults were sugary sweet when coming from those two.

Remus ushered Draco out the door, and with a last look at Ronald, they left for the Healer's office._ If I just act like I can't see him watching, maybe leaving will be easier._ Why did it feel like this would be the last time they met, even though they would only be gone for an hour, maximum? _Whatever it is,_ he reasoned, _this love thing hasn't proven to be very beneficial for my health, or my heart for that matter._

Unable to use the Knight's bus for means of transportation, since that would surely upset Remus' stomach further, they walked to the Healer's practice. It wasn't very far, only a ten-minute distance, but Draco made sure they took a brief pause every time Remus looked uncomfortable. It was still early, and Remus always had the most trouble in the mornings. He was also acting extremely watchful, a hand permanently placed on Draco's shoulder, his eyes flitting from left to right while they walked the streets. Draco knew Remus was afraid the Death Eaters might be out there somewhere, looking for him, but at this point, making sure Remus arrived at the Healer's practice was most important to Draco.

"He's a nice person," Remus noted pensively "he's always helped me when full moon comes, and he helped Siri when he was a kid. It's almost like I've known him all my life, through Sirius."

"Won't he mind that I'm there?" they arrived at a street with old houses, medium sized.

They were made in almost the same style as Malfoy mansion, but they were not as pristine and grand, or as expensive, obviously.

"Of course not," Remus smiled, guiding him towards a set of stairs leading to an oak wood door, "he'll be pleased to meet you. He saw your father once during summer. Awful hay fever, that one."

Draco laughed at the idea of his father, sniffling and sneezing. It was strange that his father had led such a different life when he was still young, and Draco couldn't help but wonder, _will I end up like that?_ It always surprised him how people could just change so easily.

Remus rang the doorbell, and they were greeted by an old man almost immediately. He had greying hair, and was tall and skinny. The man was dressed in a suit, unlike the healers in St Mungo's, but he was smiling, staring at them through his glasses.

"Remus!" the man looked pleased when he realised who was at his door, and he invited them inside, "Come in, come in!"

They were lead through a long hallway, passing the living room. It was like Draco would have imagined a Healer's home-practice to look like. There was no real indication the house belonged to a Healer, until they reached the man's study, and with it, the examination room.

"Please sit," the Healer took place behind his desk, motioning towards the seats across from him, "how was your last full moon?"

"As good as it could've been," Remus crossed his legs, _is he nervous?_ "That's not why we're here though."

"I see," the man folded his hands together, leaning his chin on top of them, "then you must be the one that is feeling ill, mister Malfoy?"

The blonde remained stoic, even when the Healer's eyes pierced his own.

"I'm just here for support," he said coldly.

Remus set his hand on Draco's arm, showing his appreciation with the small gesture.

"I haven't been feeling well Healer, but it's not because of the moon," Remus shifted in his seat, and the man nodded for him to continue, "I thought it was just stomach flu. I've been sick every morning for almost a week, it goes away during the day, but it always returns. It's also strange that despite that, I've been gaining weight. I figured I'd be okay, but when I fainted we decided it might be best if I came to see you."

"Mhm, yes," the Healer opened a drawer of his desk, summoning a book with his wand while he retracted a file. He made some notes, and the book landed next to his arm, opening itself, "How is Sirius?"

"He's fine, he's sorry he couldn't make it," Remus sounded apologetic, and Draco cast a sideway glance to make sure he was still alright.

He was pale, but otherwise fine, even if Sirius' bad name was obviously playing around in his head.

"It must be hard on him," the Healer said with a frown, "all that bad publicity. It will take a while for people to get used to him being one of the good ones, after thirteen years of that. You're still together, I hope?"

"Oh yes, of course!" Remus' eyes widened, his voice a bit outraged, but mostly enthusiastic, "We're still together, yes."

"That's good," the man scribbled something down, never looking up from the parchment, "beside your nausea, are you experiencing some pains in your lower back? Or perhaps headaches?"

Remus paused to think about it.

"I do get headaches more often," he agreed, "but I've been working a lot."

"Before you fainted, had you been feeling tired?" he continued to write while he waited for an answer.

"Yes," Remus nodded, "But again, I _have_ been working a lot."

"Alright," the man made a last note, and stood, "let's take a look, shall we?"

Draco watched in silence as Remus was stripped of his shirt, before being told to lay down on the examination table. He looked dreadfully worried, but Draco didn't know what to do—he did the only thing he _could_ do, and stood there, holding the brunette's hand. The Healer checked his temperature first, and then listened to his breathing. He felt Remus' stomach and chest, and eventually took out his own wand.

He muttered a spell and brought the tip of his wand to Remus' abdomen. Draco watched the blue glow turn green, trying to calm Remus. He was in obvious distress, and ventured to ask what spell the man was performing, but then the tip of his wand burned down, and he gave a nod and a smile.

"Well, you're not sick," the Healer helped Remus back into his shirt, "it was as I suspected."

He went back to his desk, the same mysterious smile still painted on his face. Remus and Draco exchanged a look, Remus more confused than worried. He sat up straight on the table, buttoning up his shirt.

"_As you suspected_?" he questioned, his fingers trembling, "What do you mean?"

The man chuckled, closing his file.

"Remus," he said, a little mockingly, "you're pregnant."

**AN: don't you just love cliffy's ? Oh, but I do baby !**

**Now I have to say I possibly adore my pregnant Remus so far, so it does not exactly matter what you say because my Remylovebum is so gorgeous with his beautifully broad hips and superbly pert ass...**

**Okay, so I got a little excited.**

**Did you baby ? –imagine a sexy eyebrow wriggle here-**

**I **_**seriously**_** have to stop hitting on my readers T^T'**


	24. Distress and Serenity

24. Distress and Serenity

**AN: okay, so they have a fight. And it's big and bad and evil. But can I just say I'm in love with this story?**

**First of all :**

**PRIVATESQUARE**** : I haven't gotten to answering your review in person yet, but I will asap, so I'd just like to already mention that I'm sorry you're not into the whole mpreg thing. I did however, give ample warning that there was going to be a mpreg (there was even a poll up on my page for a couple of months) and hey, I wanted to see a pregnant Remus and so did most of the readers. If you're a newer reader, then I'm sorry you didn't get to vote, but I suppose this is one of those things that was inevitable. Remus was just **_**bound**_** to get pregnant, it felt illegal not to ! I'm really sorry it's not your cup of tea, but Gods, I just love him too much not to knock him up!**

**Second:**

**THIS IS FOR**** : ****Alaie****, even though I refuse to call you my beta – just because I don't need other people spellchecking ! My spelling is **_**fineeee**_** the way it is ! – I'm still very grateful that you're willing to read the chapter and tell me what you think before I update. You save my lazy ass and even when you completely **_**suck**_** at giving any sort of criticism, you're still pretty damn amazing.**

**ALSO**** : Krazy-Katy, because I was about to mail Alaie with a new chapter when I saw your message begging me to update and that was just so **_**pretty**_** of you, that I couldn't not mention it.**

**CLOTHING CALAMITIES WILL BE UPDATED ASAP, FOR THOSE WHO CARE.**

**(For those who don't, find it on my page and realise you really **_**do**_** care. Yeah, shameless advertising all the way bitch, that's how I roll.)**

"Oh Merlin," Remus gasped for breath, "oh my..."

He was hyperventilating and Draco had no idea how to fix it. They sat on a park bench, not far from the Healer's office, and Remus had lost all control over his emotions. He was crying, but not really in a way that would indicate he was feeling actual pain. It was as if somehow, the news had completely baffled him, which worried Draco to no end. Male-pregnancies weren't uncommon, and Remus had always struck him as a family kind of person. The thought that having a family had never crossed Remus' mind was ridiculous, yet here they were. Remus' breath was beyond laboured and he was so pale anyone passing them might think he had just lost a loved one.

"This can't be happening," he gasped again, knuckles white as milk from grabbing onto the seat of the bench, "this isn't real..."

"Remus, breathe," _I wish there was a nice way to say this but there isn't, not now,_ "just relax."

"No, no, no," Remus groaned, grasping the bench harder, "no, this can't be, no, no, no..."

It was heartbreaking to watch, but at the same time he wondered _what the hell is going on?_

"Sixteen years ago this was all I wanted, but what if after all this time he grew out of it and we—" Remus whimpered and Draco just sat there, face blank, staring at the crying man beside him.

_If they want children, then why is he crying?_ Draco prided himself on catching on to people's intentions rather quickly, but this emotion—this image of a usually calculated and composed man, fallen into pieces, it was more than he could take. Because he was once composed, he was once calculated. And then he fell into pieces, and now he was different from what he was before, and how could he ever have thought that it was a good thing? Seeing Remus so desolate and hurt, it made him wonder if there would ever come a day where he himself did not wake up with the distinct feeling that something was off. _If someone as controlled as Remus can't stop himself from breaking down, how could I ever hope to cope?_

"I'm sorry," Remus bit his lip, his hands still holding on so desperately it was scary to watch, "I must be making you feel uncomfortable."

"Remus, you should just tell him," Draco watched a couple holding hands, _don't look at him because it hurts that he hurts,_ "tell him and you'll know."

"We tried having children you know," Remus gave a sigh, ignoring the tears streaming down his cheeks and focussing on something _better_, "before Azkaban. We tried for over two years before the Healer said we'd never..."

He took a shaky breath and went quiet.

When Draco dared to look at him, he was no longer crying. He was pale and staring at the floor, his hands relaxed next to his thighs.

Draco stood resolutely, unable to just _sit here and do nothing_.

"Come on," he offered Remus an arm for support, "let's go."

They were quiet during their walk back to Grimmauld place, but _at least silence is better than sobbing._ Even though Remus was nervous, he agreed that telling Sirius would be the best thing to do. No matter what their history, they would have to make this decision together.

Draco wondered if Remus honestly believed Sirius would not want this. He could imagine the man hopping up and down in joy, and knew that even though his wish for children was probably not as strong as Remus', for Remus, he would try. In all honesty, Draco didn't think there was anything Sirius _wouldn't_ do for Remus. He did understand that it must have been hard for Remus, living with the idea that it was physically _impossible_ for him to have children, only to find out that, apparently, it wasn't. He could imagine that trying for years to have kids, possibly trying every potion out there, had been very hard for them. But _doesn't that make this a blessing?_

"Draco?" he was shook from his thoughts when they arrived at Grimmauld place, Remus holding the door for him.

There was cheerful laughter coming from the kitchen, and Remus went there to look for Sirius, so Draco followed. _You need to sleep,_ his inner-bitchy-Draco said, but he ignored it quite ostentatiously.

Both Hermione and Ginny had woken, and were sitting at the table for breakfast. Ginny was particularly quiet, and Molly was constantly sending her confused looks. The laughter was coming from Harry and Sirius, the latter looking up when Remus entered—_still pale_—smile melting into _concern_ when he saw the brunette.

"Moony—" even just the first syllable was laced with worry.

"Can we talk?" Remus looked from Draco, to the floor, and back to Draco, _all so he wouldn't have to look at Sirius._

"Of course," Sirius stood immediately, "Remus, what—"

"_Now_," Remus left without letting Sirius finish.

Sirius shot Draco a questioning glare—left unanswered—and followed his lover. Draco stood there awkwardly for a minute—all eyes on him now—avoiding Ron's eyes, before he turned to leave as well, _sleep, sleep, sleepsleepsleep._

"Draco, where are you going?" Molly called—she had had her back turned the entire time, busy making eggs, but she knew he was leaving.

"Upstairs," he stopped to look at her, and she frowned over her shoulder.

"Have breakfast first sweetheart," she used that sweet, caring mother-voice, but still, Draco left.

"I'm not hungry."

He managed to make it to the first floor before Ron caught up with him. At first, Draco didn't even notice, his thoughts randomly altering from _sleep_ to _Remus_ and then to _Ron_, and for some stupid reason he was _hurt_, even if he didn't know why.

The redhead seized his hip, forcing Draco to acknowledge his presence. He turned with a questioning look, one eyebrow raised delicately, _just get out and go to bed._

"Hey," Ron beamed goofily, though his clear blue eyes reflected a different emotion, _confusion?_ "Where did you go?"

"I was going to my room," Draco waved in the general direction of his bedroom to emphasise his words, _hurry before you break down._

"I meant, with Remus," Ron further explained, looking at Draco expectantly.

Draco froze._ If I tell him, he'll tell Harry, and if Harry knows, Sirius will find out he knows because of me and he might be disappointed._ All he needed was a bed and rest, and maybe then the whole situation would be much clearer to him. He didn't want to upset Ron, but at this point he could hardly think straight. _Because Remus is afraid Sirius won't want..._

_Remus is afraid Sirius..._

He had no idea anymore.

"No place special," his voice was smooth, and he was proud to call himself a Malfoy.

_No insecurity reflected there, not when you're a Malfoy,_ his pesky-inner-self gloated, and he wished he could kick himself in the gut when he saw Ron's face fall. His ears burned red, and when his ears burned red without his cheeks turning pink, it meant that _he's angry._

"You're not gonna tell me, are you?" the words were like poison, the freckled face contorting in disgust.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco frowned, hands bringing themselves to his waist.

"We never talk about _important_ things you know," Ron stated sardonically, "You never tell me _anything_!"

"Look, if this is about the drawings," the blonde sighed, tempted to rub his temples, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I liked that sort of thing, alright. I didn't know you would be so sensitive about it, but that doesn't mean we don't talk! We talk about important things all the time!"

"Oh yeah?" Ron balled his fists, "if we talk about important stuff all the time, then how come I had to _beg_ Ginny to tell me about this?" he outstretched an arm, waving his wrist under Draco's nose, _the bracelet,_ "Because you refused to!"

"You said you'd let it slide!" he ignored the anxiety coiling in his abdomen, trying to explain: "Just because I didn't tell you doesn't mean—"

"We only ever talk about little things! We never talk about _anything_ relevant, don't bloody hell try to deny it!" Ron raged on, face turning red now as well. A door to their left opened, and the twins emerged from their bedroom, hair tousled and eyes unfocused. A moment later a door behind them opened, and Bill and Charlie came out of their bedroom as well, to seek for the source of the commotion. Ron only had eyes for Draco and continued angrily: "What about feelings, huh? The only emotion you ever talk about is hunger, and what, it's alright to quench that thirst but using our mouths for actual _talking_ is out of the question?"

People were coming up the stairs now to find out what was going on, but Draco didn't care. He wanted sleep but wouldn't be getting any, Ron was pushing every button he did not want pushed, and Draco went haywire.

"Don't you bloody hell pin that on me!" he swore, "I'm not the one that decided to _molest_ you in the library! You give me this weird twirly feeling in the pit of my stomach and that's so embarrassing because what right do you have to just go and sweep me off my feet! And as if that isn't bad enough," he laughed joylessly, a hollow, mean sound, "now I have to talk about it? It's not bad enough that you basically own my body, no, now you have to go and take my thoughts too! What? It's not good for you almighty Gryffindor that I try my best to _show you,_ the whole goddamn day!"

Ron shook his head, almost mocking.

"So _show_ me!" he dared, glaring all the while.

Draco glared back just as fiercely, and willed every burning hormone in his body to stay in check when he pulled down the collar of Ron's shirt and kissed him, hard. During an argument like this, it would be preferred if that stupid redhead _didn't_ turn him on, and he did everything he could to assure that, pushing Ron away after the cold-hearted brush of lips.

Ron's chest heaved and he licked his lips.

"I..." his voice was a whisper, "I wasn't talking about love Draco."

He was back to being calm and collective—_one kiss and he's turned all the way upside-down_—but Draco knew it wouldn't stay like that for very long. No matter how tired he was, he couldn't just let it slide. Not when they were finally talking about all that emotional crap, because no matter how hard he tried to deny it, imagining Ron telling him just how much he truly loved him, was important to him. And even if this fight might not lead him there, at least he wasn't worrying about Sirius and Remus anymore. _No,_ he thought cynically, _now you just have your own happiness to worry about._ But perhaps that in itself was a contradiction, because was his happiness ever real, _here, now?_

"Then what _are_ you talking about!" the blonde demanded, eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"What the hell do you think?" at Draco's angry tone, Ron felt obliged to raise his own voice as well, just to feel in control, "Distrust!"

"What? I don't distrust you!" Draco's face scrunched up, a deep frown appearing, in doubt of Ron's sanity.

"So the fact that you won't tell me where you went with Remus has nothing to do with distrust?" Ron rolled his eyes, "Like I don't know you won't tell me because you're afraid I'll tell Harry?"

"That has nothing to do with distrust! It's about friendship!" Draco yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Ron, "Despite what everyone around here seems to think, I _do_ know loyalty, and I _do_ know friendship! You've been Harry's friend longer than you've been mine, just because I wouldn't _like_ that you'd tell him, doesn't mean I wouldn't understand if you did!"

"We don't think you—" Ron began angrily, trying to worm his way out of the accusation.

"I don't take you for a fool Ronald," Draco said coldly, tone more silent, but harsh and hurtful, "I'd appreciate if you could return the favour. You don't even see Blaise as a friend, to you he's just the guy that wants to fuck me."

"That's not even the point!" Ron replied hot-headedly, blushing darker at the mention of Draco's best friend,_ because he knows I'm right,_ "If you asked me not to tell him, I wouldn't!"

"That is _exactly_ the point! The reason I wouldn't tell you in the first place is because I wouldn't want to force you to choose sides!"

"Just because you don't want to cause trouble doesn't mean you can just not talk about it!" Ron tried reasoning, but he was too loud and sounded too upset, "It was obviously bothering you, it's important to talk about that!"

"Fine," Draco snapped, "you want to talk? Let's talk! Tell me, oh wise Weasley, which emotion would you like to talk about next, huh?" he was plain-out mocking Ron, and could see the hurt reflect and didn't care, _he made his bed, now he's got to lie in it,_ "We've had hunger, love and distrust, perhaps you'd like to move on to happiness and joy? Would you prefer I tell you next time you do something that pleases me? Should I wake you up in the morning so I can tell you how nice the sun makes me feel?"

Ron glared at being treated like a child, Draco's spiting voice infuriating him further.

"What about grief and sorrow and distress?" he spat, eyes flashing fire, as if to say: '_look, you're not the only one that can hurt_', "How 'bout we talk about those?"

Draco scowled, crossing his arms. _Hurt he did._

"_Come on_ Draco," Ron begged, vicious and mean _and..._ "Your parents..."

Vicious and mean as he may try to be, he managed to cut himself off before he finished the sentence. But Draco was no fool, and the idea that even for a second, Ron considered using _that_ against him in a fight, caused Draco's face to go even whiter than before. He felt his heart thumping, and latched out.

"_What_?" he hissed, squeezing into his own arms to try and calm him just a little, "Go ahead Ronald, say it! My parents what? My parents died, is that it?" angry tears brimmed in his eyes and pricked at his lashes, but he didn't even feel them, just _adrenaline,_ "Is that what you so desperately want to talk about?" he demanded, "You want to know how my aunt killed them, and then when she couldn't find me, she decided to burn the house down, piece by piece?" Ron's Adam's apple bobbed and he looked genuinely _sorry_, but now that he'd started, he couldn't just stop—not even if all reasonable sense left in him told him to, _quit it, now, before you go too far—_he had no control left, tears rolling down his cheeks in big long streaks, words being spat without really wanting them to be shared, "What the fuck do you want me to tell you? That when I came home the Aurors were just arriving to put the fire out? Or that I went into the living room, naive as I was, and found my parents dead on the couch, their tea still warm?"

He let out a whimper, and bit his lip. He became aware of the hot liquid streaming down his face, about his nails digging into his own flesh, and he wished he could stop. All Weasleys were looking at him in shock and he was sure he looked a mess. And still, he could not keep his mouth shut.

"So?" he spit, utter disdain laced with his voice, "Have I magically fixed our problems, now that I've used my mouth for something other than sex?"

"Draco..." Ron inhaled deeply, breathing the name like a prayer, "I am _so_ sorry."

"Oh please," Draco sneered, repulsed, _pathetic, if he's going to ever want to win an argument, at least he has to get the guts to carry out his threats,_ "look at you. Now you're even apologising for a crime you didn't commit?"

"C'mon Draco," Ron shook his head, all his will to fight completely vanished, "Merlin, you're crying," he took a step closer to the blonde, outstretching an arm to pick up the tears on the pale cheek with the backs of his fingers, "this is bad, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be nice to me," Draco pulled back—tears still falling, "we're having an argument!"

"No we're not, I've ended it," Ron said simply, holding Draco's shoulder so he couldn't pull away again while he stroked his cheek a second time.

"You can't end the argument without my agreement!" Draco objected, but _I would really like some sleep, actually._

"Of course I can," a tan thumb brushed past his cheekbone, "all you have to do is not disagree."

Draco looked at him, just to verify his actions. Ron seemed completely upright, his look soft and caring, his lips no longer pursed in anger. His hands were callused, like always, but their touch felt _right_, and even though not fifteen minutes earlier Draco had been wondering how he could have ever thought this change was a good thing, he had no doubt now that Ron was there. If it was wrong, Ron's mere touch would not be able to heal him like it did.

"Does this mean I can sleep?" he couldn't repress a yawn, and saw Ron's lips twirl into a smile.

"Yes, if you want to," he said softly, turning him into the direction of his bedroom.

With his hands securely placed on Draco's shoulder, he guided him past Bill and Charlie, ignoring their audience completely.

"I didn't say you could come," Draco tried objecting, but already felt his eyes flutter shut at the thought of _bed._

"I don't care," Ron merely shrugged, leading the blonde to the bedroom.

Draco awoke with his head on top of something hard and moving. When he scooted a bit, he noticed he was bent awkwardly on the bed, lying on his side, curled up completely. His knees were tucked up to his chest, and a nice pressure was against his neck, moving up to his hair before going down to his shirt. He heard a soft snort, and opened his eyes when his pillow moved. When he saw jeans and a zipper, he realised he _wasn't_ using a pillow, and instead had his head cushioned on Ron's thigh.

He yawned and outstretched, purring like a big cat when his muscles fletched. This caused another chuckle from Ron, and the fingers caressing his neck gave his ear a little pinch, which in turn made Draco mewl again.

The blonde moved his head from its comfortable position on Ron's thigh to see what the boy was up to. He was holding a book of sorts, but was looking at Draco with a petite smile on his lips.

"What are you reading?" Draco asked, his voice still sleepy.

Ron grinned and showed his copy of 'The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle'. Draco was hard-pressed to make a noise of protest, but all he could think about was how the hell a comic book about _muggles_ found its way into his bedroom.

"Where did you get that?" he frowned, lifting his head when Ron began moving.

The redhead lay the comic down on the bedside table, and moved down from his sitting position. He lied down next to the blonde, and Draco inclined his head when Ron's eyes met his. Suddenly he felt all... _giggly-schoolgirl-like, and that's never good_, because Ron's eyes were so intense, making him shiver all over.

"My mum brought them," Ron whispered, his breath cooling the top of Draco's head.

"She was here?" he muttered, pushing his forehead into Ron's chest so he wouldn't have to see his stare, "Great, I bet she feels sorry for me now, fucking fantastic."

He sounded bitter and couldn't help it. The thought that she would pity him, it innerved him. He didn't want her sympathy, he didn't need it. He was alive and breathing, and that was supposed to be a good thing, she didn't need to feel _sorry_ for him. He did that enough for himself as it was.

"She's just trying to look out for you," Ron nuzzled into his blonde hair and lay an arm around Draco's waist—the heavy feeling of being held remarkably comforting, "she brought you breakfast. Sirius and Remus were here too."

_Sirius and Remus?_

He looked up immediately, not caring that Ron's eyes were giving him pleasant tremors, or that Ron was giving one of those charming smiles that he never seemed to realise made Draco's heart skip a beat.

"Sirius and Remus were here? Were they okay? Were they talking to each other?" Draco knew he was talking too fast and sounded too un-Malfoy-like, but it didn't bother him all that much.

"They were fine," Ron frowned at Draco's obvious concern, his nose scrunched up cutely, "actually, they were really cheerful. I think they'd just had sex, which made it kind of awkward since I could tell, but they were really nice and worried."

Draco nodded, inwardly a big smile forming. He was glad they were apparently okay, even though his concern wouldn't disappear completely before he saw them personally. Ron was still giving him that piercing look, but Draco knew he was going to say something again, and didn't turn away. The redhead squeezed his hip, his own clothed thigh brushing against Draco's.

"You don't have to tell me why you thought they weren't okay," he brushed a kiss against Draco's cheek, and Draco knew he had lost, either way, _stupid seductive redhead,_ "but if you want to, I promise I won't tell Harry."

The blonde sighed and let his head fall back into his pillow. He looked at Ron for a minute, trying to anticipate his reaction.

"We went to see a Healer," he said plainly, "Remus is pregnant. They wanted to have children before Azkaban, but they were told they wouldn't be able to, so Remus was afraid Sirius would have changed his mind."

Ron nodded in understanding, a slight widening of his eyes the only indication the news had surprised him.

"Was that why you were so upset?" he kissed Draco's forehead and slid his broad hand to the pale lower back, revealed to him between the blonde's jeans and shirt.

"He was crying," Draco muttered, "but not just crying... really just... I've never seen him like that, Remus is usually so strong. It was scary, that he was broken, just because of Sirius."

Ron's look saddened and he kissed Draco's forehead once more.

"He had no reason to worry, from what I gather, Sirius is thrilled," Ron pulled Draco closer into his body, nuzzling his neck, "no wonder he was so happy, they're having a baby!"

Draco rolled his eyes at Ron's tone, but at the same time, _I'm glad he doesn't mind._

One of the tan hands—the one with the scar, Draco remarked—crawled up under his white t-shirt, feeling the tight shoulders work when Draco uncurled his arms and pushed his fingers against Ron's stomach. The redhead's own shirt had crawled up to expose some skin, his jeans too low on his hips. It was too difficult not to touch him, and Draco was tired of constantly trying to fight the urge.

He pressed his palm against the tan stomach, and watched it constrict at the touch. Ron purred cutely and brushed his thumbs over Draco's bumpy spine. They lied there in silence for a moment. Draco was surprised Ron didn't begin blushing while they examined each other's bodies. Not even when Draco pulled the white shirt over the red head, did his cheeks redden. He liked how comfortable Ron had gotten around him, and pressed a kiss to his chest as a reward, even though he didn't share his thoughts.

"Draco..." Ron hummed pleasantly, pushing his nose to Draco's chin. He forced the blonde to avert his eyes away from his chest, to meet his own, "Could I ask you something about your dad?"

"My father?" Draco's brows rose gracefully, "It depends on what you want to know."

"Well," Ron scratched the back of his head—something he always did when he was nervous—before weaving his fingers together with the pale ones, "from the conversation in the kitchen... I mean... Was your dad queer?"

"You mean to ask if he was in love with another man," Draco corrected, his tone scolding—_if I told him once, I told him a thousand times, Malfoys fall in love, the end_—then said plainly: "yes."

"And..." Ron paused, momentarily looking at their entwined fingers before looking back into the beautiful silver-grey, "You didn't mind?"

"No," Draco said firmly, truthfully, and Ron smiled at the certainty in his voice, "he was really good to me. He loved me and taught me that I could do whatever I wanted, if only I worked hard enough."

He was proud of himself when he didn't cry, even though his hormones weren't a hundred percent in check. Ron patted his own chest to invite his lover, and Draco gladly flattered his face into the broad body, his fingers tightening around Ron's while his other hand pushed against Ron's stomach, sliding to his hip.

"And it didn't bother you that your parents weren't in love?" Ron questioned.

Draco shook his head against Ron's chest, his hair tickling the redhead.

"Not really. My mother never really took much care of me, and my father worked a lot. I felt flattered that he spent all his free time with me. It made me feel... Privileged..." he looked up to Ron's grinning face and scoffed, "What? You think it's stupid, don't you?"

"No," it was Ron's time to shake his head, "I think it's real adorable."

Draco scowled, and Ron pushed himself up on his elbow with a chuckle. He leaned over to kiss the blonde's rosy lips, pulling back with a cheeky smile. Draco turned onto his back and Ron's fingers moved to caress the pale skin revealed below Draco's shirt. The feather-light touches forced goosebumps to Draco's skin, the rough calluses heightening his sensitivity.

The blonde outstretched an arm so he could cup Ron's cheek. He rubbed his thumb past the soft skin below the redhead's ear, looking at Ron intently. A smile quirked his lip and just for the moment, _I can be completely at ease, just here in bed with him, for as long as it lasts._

Their eyes remained locked, Ron's fingers not leaving his abdomen even when he offered the blonde his breakfast, balancing the plate on one hand.

They spent the main part of the morning in bed—Ron feeding the blonde little nicks of food every now and then—just talking. Draco wasn't doing it purposely to show Ron that they talked, but because they'd never been alone for such a long time. It seemed as if there was always _someone_ that needed them, and alone-time where they could just relax without fearing someone might come in and discover their secret, was rare.

Ron rummaged around some of the boxes Draco had yet to unpack so they could listen to music and even when they bickered about nonsensical things, they were still okay. He showed Draco the Polaroid camera Fred and George had given him—a special device that shrunk the size of a peanut for easy carrying—and they messed around with that for a little while.

The door opened halfway through their battle for a picture—one of Draco's stomach—which they had been fighting about for ten minutes, Draco insisting it was far too indecent, while Ron was hard pressed to keep it with him.

"I see you're feeling better," Charlie appeared in the doorway with a broad grin on his face, and Draco paused—hand in mid-air—as they both turned to him in surprise.

He straightened his shirt, giving Ron a glare—the redhead happily pocketing the picture—before replying.

"I feel fine Weasley," said Draco curtly, "how can I help you?"

"Mum was wondering if you're up for lunch?" Charlie regarded Ron's naked chest before grinning back at the blonde, "We're setting the table outside, since the weather's so nice."

"Sure," Draco gave a nod, "we'll be right out."

"Alright," Charlie's grin remained as bright as ever, and he winked: "I'll leave you two to it then."

He closed the door quickly, before Draco could throw a pillow—or worse, a shoe—at his head, and they could hear him laugh all the way down the hall.

Draco redressed, feeling uncomfortable to have lunch in the same clothes he slept in. Ron watched him dress with hungry eyes, following his figure wherever it went.

**AN: you know what's funny? 'Ostentatief' is a Dutch word, and resembles the word 'ostentatious', but they have different meanings ^-^ I only realised that when I used 'ostentatiously' because I felt like using a 'chic' word and that was the one that came to mind in the sentence. Furthermore, I have no clue why I even know 'ostentatiously' is a friggin' word, but hey, apparently I do.**

**I'm trying to extend my vocabulary by learning a couple of random words from my English dictionary each day. So yeah.**

**AN: the shoe is a reference to another RonDraco I'm writing, and I had written it before I realised you guys wouldn't get it because it's not in this story that Draco throws shoes... but yeah. YAY for advertisement!**

**I once again want to remind people that I will try to update once a month... so, next update will be in May ! WHOOHOO ! (Is this sexy for you too baby, cause I know it is for me.)**


	25. Party and Prude

25. Party and Prude

**FOR: Alaie~ and this does not even need an explanation. Just… thank you.**

**A genuine apology, for those who care:**

**I'm in uni. And I'm writing on a chapter of which I'd realised: this could be the last and that would be fine. Except that it wouldn't be, not for me.**

**I'm having trouble adjusting to my new life. And it doesn't help that my latest chapter has a sex scene and is… what can I say, possibly the most crucial chapter of all? It's one of those "plot thickens" chapters, except that not a lot thickens and it is more of an explanation or salvation or whatever.**

**Okay… you'll get it when you get to chapter 29.**

**For now I can just say that I am sorry for not updating in over a year, definitely since I always have chapters to update and I couldn't even bring myself to do that… But it's here now~ and I try –tryyyyy !- to work hard on chapter 29, and when that has finished completely, and I've successfully began chapter 30, I'll update the next chappy !**

**TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED OR PM'ED, BEING WORRIED OR GENERALLY JUST BEING NICE: thank you so much ! Like I said before, I'm having some problems right now, and I've overall been a not-so-happy person and that has been reflecting on my work, which basically means that besides not feeling good enough, now also my work felt not good enough, so I neglected updating and all of that…**

**There will be a day when you will all receive review and pm replies ! For now, all these people who have been so kind to me, you know who you are, and just know that even though I don't know your names and I don't know your faces, each and every one of your reviews and replies has helped me so much ! THANK YOU !**

**Now ! On with it !**

**AN: 10 sounds a lot, but there's two of them, so that only makes 5, and I believe that that is perfectly doable, I mean, I've reached over five, but then again I am a girl so I figure it works different, but still, hey, it's _Blaise_, if that bitch can't pull off 5, no bitch can! You'll get it when you get there, and then you'll realise how disturbingly too much info that was. Oh yeah, feel it.**

Having lunch with all the Weasleys was much more fun with Ron's hand posed permanently on his thigh. Everyone was a bit wary of him, after seeing him cry, but he just ignored them. He sat next to Sirius as well, who constantly threw him grins, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close at random moments. Draco knew he wanted to say something, but that he couldn't with all the other people around. There would soon be time enough, when the Weasleys went home in the weekend, and Draco was prepared to resist his curiosity for the time being.

Tonks sat next to Ginny, with her eyes fixed on Remus. She followed the interaction between the two carefully, even though they ignored her. They didn't actually kiss, but Sirius held Remus' hand and sometimes pecked his neck. It was actually too sweet for Draco to watch, but then Ron would squeeze his thigh and Draco would be reminded of the fact that _yes, I too am a fool for love._

Ginny only had eyes for Ron and Draco, and had apparently gotten over the fact that Remus and Sirius would not be marrying respectable woman. Instead she was concerned that she had really hurt her brother.

After lunch, Harry invited Ron up to their room so Draco was evidently forced to follow. Hermione joined too, and it really was kind of awkward for Draco. He read while the Golden Trio talked, and even though he was a bit annoyed at having to hold his book _and_ flip the pages with one hand, Ron's fit snugly into his and the redhead wasn't planning on letting go soon.

When Draco's mobile rang, the conversation halted suddenly. He planned on getting up from his place by the bed—all four of them on the carpet, using the bed as a shield from the sun—but Ron held his hand even tighter. He wasn't looking at Draco angrily, but more stern than anything else.

As if to say: '_you're not having a conversation with him if I can't hear it.'_

So he sat back and waited for Blaise to talk.

"_Baby, we need to go out!_" Blaise sounded hyperactive and distressed at the same time and_ that's not good._

"What?" Draco frowned and straightened, a wave of worry momentarily washing over him.

"_I have a strange need for weak muggle beer and sex without wand-lube_," he rambled, barely taking time to breathe.

"Blaise... you use your wand for lube?" Draco's frown grew, "how—"

"_Draco!_" Blaise interrupted—so shrill the others could hear it and Draco pulled back in shock, "_I want frivolous dancing and I want it now!_"

"Well," Draco snapped, _something's wrong and he's not telling me, the bitch!_ "You're not getting any frivolous dancing until you tell me why you're PMSing!"

He could practically _see_ Blaise sulk.

"_Leo went to the movies with a friend!_" he admitted, outraged, "_He's choosing movies over sex!_"

"Just because he's out with friends doesn't mean he's choosing the one over the other," said Draco with a roll of his eyes, _typical Blaise,_ "I'm sure he'll want sex after the movies."

"_That's not the point!_" Blaise whined, "_When we went to have dinner and lover-boy wanted your attention you compromised and brought him along! I'm being denied sex because of some stupid kid named Pasha!_"

"Could you please not call him lover-boy, that's so degrading," Draco reprimanded him, "furthermore, you are sure as hell _not_ comparing my love for Ronald to your fucktoy of the month! For all you know he's punishing you for fucking everything that has a dick and moves!"

Ron brushed his thumb past the plain of Draco's hand at his words to show his appreciation, and it caused Draco to smile a little.

"_He has no right to punish me! I'll show him the real meaning of 'fucking everything that moves'!_"

"At risk of sounding like the dreadfully boring person I really am," Draco said frankly, "I really wish you wouldn't. I promise I'll make you feel better, but only if you promise not to have sex."

There was some hesitation.

"_I always thought you were better than sex,_" Blaise sighed eventually, "_thank you babe._"

"Buy me a weak muggle beer and we'll call it even," Draco grinned, "I'll have to ask Sirius first, is that okay?"

"_Sure,_" Blaise still sounded rather down, despite his attempts to hide it, "_ah, also, I plan on asking your redhead along._"

Draco finally looked at Ron. He had been staring all through the conversation and gave the pale hand a squeeze when their eyes locked.

"_He's been nice to you,_" Blaise chuckled, explaining, "_he deserves to see your dancing tush._"

Draco grinned, and with Blaise still laughing, he hung up.

Blaise arrived at Grimmauld Place a glum mess that evening. He was pouty, and nearly squeezed Draco to death when he opened the door.

"Okay babe," he said sternly, "make me feel better."

Draco just laughed and led him up the stairs. He had reluctantly agreed to let Harry and Hermione stay in his bedroom for the evening, since Ron had left his chessboard there and the room wasn't exceedingly hot. It had been a nuisance, Harry and Hermione curious as to the purpose of every single item there, and—with Ron close-by—unafraid to ask him about them.

"Oh!" Blaise stopped abruptly when they passed the first floor living room—inside, Bill, Charlie and Molly resided—and the three redheads looked up in surprise. Molly was about to greet Blaise, when the boy grinned and licked his lips, eyes locked on Bill: "actually, having a redhead might make me feel better."

"Blaise! No sex!"

Draco dragged the raven off, leaving an outraged Molly, a befuddled Charlie and a blushing Bill behind.

"Wauw, you've given it a complete make-over, haven't you?" Blaise drawled sarcastically. Ron and Harry, who were playing chess, looked up when the pair entered the bedroom, and Hermione—busy examining the bookrack—turned in surprise, "Last time I was here, the boobs was a redhead."

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco raised his hand and silenced her.

"He's drunk, just drop it," he pushed Blaise forward, "come on Blaise, bathroom."

"But I don't need to pee," Blaise whined.

"But you need to shower, you stink," they disappeared into the bathroom, but the three teens left in the bedroom could still hear them bicker, "when you said you wanted weak muggle beer I didn't expect you to go and find some on your own before you came here."

"Actually, I got some booze from the kids down my street," there was a giggle, "Dray, that tickles."

"Alright, get those off," Ron and Harry exchanged a look, and the redhead frowned, "come on, in you go Blaise."

"Why is that I'm naked and you're still fully clothed?"

"Because I know what decency is. Yours has long gone," the water began running and Blaise gave a loud shriek which made Harry bump over the chessboard, and caused Hermione to drop the book she was holding.

"Dray-co," Blaise gave a wail, "It's cold bay-by!"

"That's the general idea," Ron could imagine Draco would be rolling his eyes, and even though the blonde was in the same room as a naked Blaise, he couldn't help but smile, "hey don't—"

"FEEL THE COLD!"

"You sodding wanker!" Blaise giggled, "_Stay!_"

"But—"

"Stay or I bloody murder you!" once more, Blaise giggled, and Draco exited the bathroom with a scowl on his face.

His dress-shirt was completely soaked, and it stuck to his figure tightly, showing his nipples clearly due to the cold of the water. Ron gave him a sympathetic look but Draco was too busy undoing his shirt to notice. He dumped it in the hamper and grumbled unhappily while he avidly searched his wardrobe for a replacement.

"DRAKEY-BABY-LOVE-BUM!" Blaise sang off-key, and Harry had to repress a chuckle.

He didn't like Slytherins, really, but they made funny drunks.

"Stay there," Draco called, immune to the nickname—he used to get very angry whenever Blaise called him that, but he knew it was something only a very-drunk Blaise used—knowing that if the boy was in his right mind, he wouldn't use it, "I'll come help you immediately!"

"But it's co-ho-hold!"

"That's the point," Draco snapped, quickly shrugging on a new shirt, before taking Blaise's bag and heading back into the bathroom, "out."

"Finally!" the relief was evident in his voice, "I was freezing my nuts off! How could you put _piccolo_ Blaisey through that torture!"

"Could you please not refer to your dick as 'piccolo Blaisey'," Draco commented dryly, and this time Harry could not repress his chortle, "put your briefs on. Here, go...— Blaise!"

Blaise fled from the bathroom and into the bedroom—grinning goofily at the other three teenagers—in just his white, tight briefs, the fact that he was still wet causing them to stick to his body even more. He almost flopped down on the bed when Draco sneered: "you better not be thinking about planting your wet arse down on my freshly made bed!"

The raven coughed and remained standing, shaking his head a little, droplets of water falling from his black curls. Draco appeared—his shirt once more soaked—with a towel in his hand and glare in place. He carried his friend's bag back to the bed and looked at the raven expectantly. Blaise grinned apologetically, and Draco shook his head lightly, laying the towel on the black head and beginning the drying of his hair.

"Dray," Blaise muttered, his eyes a bit hazy, "I'm feeling better."

"That's nice," Draco said dryly, "don't move."

He rubbed the raven behind his ears, and Blaise did his best to stand still.

"This whole wet shirt look suits you Dray," he commented throatily, "I've done good."

"No you haven't," Draco snapped, "just because I said I'd make you okay again does not give you the right to soak two of my best shirts!"

"If you'd taken it off we wouldn't be having this discussion," Blaise leered seductively, but it lost in strength when he yelped as Draco gave his hair a harsh tug.

"That is very true, though besides the point," Draco began to dry off the broad, dark chest, "one naked person in the bathroom is more than enough, thank you."

"Is that what you say when sparky over there," he indicated Ron, "joins?"

Ron glared at the nickname, and Harry's eyes widened, _as if we can't bathe together, stupid sod._

"That's different," Draco reasoned, and added: "and don't call him sparky."

"How is that different?" Blaise pouted, "I'm sexy too!"

"Are you a redhead?" Draco asked sternly, rubbing the dark hair to accentuate his point, "I think not," he tossed the towel into the hamper as well, and took Blaise's t-shirt from his bag, "is your skin pale and freckly?" he poked Blaise's stomach and the boy's pout grew, "Nope. So it's different. Arms."

His friend obediently outstretched his arms, so Draco could easily put the shirt on him. When the blonde turned to take Blaise's clean jeans, the black boy grabbed him around the waist. The front of Draco's shirt stuck to his chest because of the water, but now also because Blaise forced it there, and it rumpled under Blaise's arm. Draco tried squeezing out of the embrace, but it was no use, Blaise refused to let go.

"That's not fair at all," Blaise sulked, "just because I'm not freckly..."

"Tough luck Blaise, but unless you turn into Ron Weasley overnight you're not seeing me naked, now let go of me," he tried, to no avail to reach the jeans, but Blaise only held him tighter.

"But you're my best friend! Does that not give me naked dibs?"

"No, it does not," Draco outstretched his whole body, and managed to reach the jeans with the tops of his fingers. Carefully, he brought them closer within reach, "Come on Blaise, let me dress you."

He used his extra-friendly-yet-seductive tone, knowing that Blaise could not resist it. He sounded rather sultry, but it served its purpose as Blaise abruptly released his hold.

"Thank you," Draco squatted down, tugging at Blaise's ankle to indicate he ought to lift his foot, "up."

Blaise obeyed, and the blonde slid the jeans around one leg, moving to the next. When he had managed to get most of the pants legs over Blaise's ankles, he slowly came back up to a standing position, pulling the jeans with him. He did the front of his friend's jeans and closed the buckle of his belt.

"All done, I'm sure you can manage with your socks?" he stepped back to examine his handiwork—Blaise no longer smelled like the Merlin-awful liquor he'd had, and his damp hair gave his outfit a little extra—handing the raven his white socks.

"Sure, that little sexy crouching thing you did there sobered me completely babe," he flashed a grin and flopped down onto the bed—close to Harry, who was still staring at the couple in wonderment—while Draco focused on once more changing his shirt. He did so quickly, not wanting to be half-naked in front of anyone else _but Ronald,_ for too long, "Are you going like that?"

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing," Draco threw a glare over his shoulder at his friend, taking his black peacoat from its hanger, figuring he might need it later on.

"You know how hot it gets there babe," Blaise tugged on his second sock and took his fancy sneakers from his bag, "I don't want you to sizzle and evaporate into thin air."

"I promise you I won't sizzle, the shirt's really not that hot," he did his buttons while he watched his appearance in the mirror, _damn, I look good. Ron better be coming with me tonight, 'cause he's gonna wanna ravish that either way._

"You're wearing lengthy black jeans!"

"So are you," Draco frowned, pointing at the black boy's own trousers.

"I'm Italian babe," Blaise winked, "I was born to sizzle."

Draco rolled his eyes but went to his drawer nonetheless. He undid his jeans under his jacket and pulled on a pair of light khaki brown shorts instead. It was a funny sight to see him do it under his coat, but he didn't care because_ at least I'm not flashing them with too much of my skin_.

He turned to give Blaise a rather bored look, but the raven just grinned.

"Perfect," he stood, and turned to the two boys on the carpet, "so, would you two like to accompany us?"

"What about me?" Hermione butted in, outraged at the idea of not being asked to come as well.

"You can come too," Blaise shrugged, indicating that he really didn't care either way, "just prepare to be disappointed if you do."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"He's trying to say that he's taking us to a gay bar," Draco elaborated, "and though boobs are accepted in the one we're going to, they're not exactly adored."

"So," Blaise flashed them with his typical bad-boy grin, "you joining?"

Ron and Harry shared a look, debating the offer. Then, without further consideration, Ron glanced over at Draco—his eyes darkening with lust—and nodded.

When they arrived at the club, there was a line waiting outside to be let in. Harry and Ron exchanged a look, agreeing not to go to the end of the line and instead wait to see what the two Slytherins were up to. Ron's hand slipped into Draco's as if by accident, but _I'm on friend-duty,_ so Draco just gave it a small tug. The music was pounding, perfectly audible even when they were still standing outside.

"Blaise! Blondie!" they were called over by the bouncer by the door—a muscled, half-naked man with a broad smile—and Blaise pulled the blonde with him.

Instead of receiving angry looks as they had at the restaurant, most people just waved at them, which Harry obviously found weird, even if he didn't comment on it.

"Good to see you," the man exchanged kisses with Blaise, and Draco shook his hand politely, "go on in."

"You really never wait in line, do you?" Ron said with a smirk as Blaise led them inside.

Draco just smiled knowingly, following his friend.

Inside, the thud of the music was even worse. It was hard and fast, pressing into their eardrums. To Draco, coming to the club was like turning off all the lights. No one there knew him—he was only known by the name 'Blondie'—and with the hard pumping of the music all pretense disappeared. The beat was the only thing of any relevance, and once he began dancing, stopping was a sin. The dance floor was the place to shake off anything bad or awkward, everything went there, as was proven by the men practically dry-humping each other, and it was a place where anyone—_everyone—_could be free, disregarding house or gender.

When Blaise took him out, he never had to worry about the obligations he had to his family.

Because here he wasn't really Draco to anyone but Blaise. He was Blondie, and not being known felt safe. The knowledge that whatever happened there, stayed there, was comforting. It was a way out.

_Music does that to me_.

With Blaise's arm around his waist and Ron's hand tightly in his own, they made their way to the back of the club. There were some comfortable couches there, placed to form a comfortable nook. Most were taken, a couple making out on one of them, but two—their usual places, Draco noticed—were still vacant.

Everywhere men were dancing, sweaty bodies colliding, and the seating area was no different, couples surrounding the couches. The dancing was almost indecent, but Draco was used to it by now. In a way it made the experience even more relaxing; to be amidst all those carefree people, dancing like there was no tomorrow.

On their way to the couches, a waiter handed Blaise five fluorescent green bottles with a smirk. Blaise said something—unheard by all but the waiter—and kissed his cheek, before leaving with a wink. The waiter pretended to be unaffected by the words, but his cheeks had a light pink hue to them as he smirked and left as well.

Draco took off his jacket as soon as they arrived at the couches, the air too thick for him to stand it. He took the bottle of beer Blaise offered him, and opened it with ease, taking a gentle swig.

"So," Blaise uncapped his bottle and downed it in one go, dividing the others amongst the Gryffindors, "let's go."

He offered a dark hand to Draco.

The blonde hesitated and cast a look at Ron. Ron had seated himself next to Harry, the raven nervously sipping his drink. They looked terribly uncomfortable, and Granger regarded their surroundings with something of awe. The redhead's eyes were fixed on Draco though, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Draco took another mouthful of his drink and ditched the bottle on the table, before taking Blaise's hand.

The Gryffindors watched the two Slytherins go, Harry and Hermione slightly panicky. Even though Ron had never been out like that before, he found the seats to be rather comfortable, and since Draco was dancing not thirty feet away from him, he was not about to complain. It was very hard to keep his eyes off the blonde, his t-shirt fitting perfectly around his chest, a bit tight around his broader hips so it outlined his figure perfectly.

Ron unconsciously licked his lips, and Harry and Hermione shared a knowing look.

The only thing that ruined the perfect picture, was the fact that one of Blaise's hands was posed on Draco's hip, assuring that they stayed close together.

"You know," Harry said pensively all of a sudden, forcing Ron to pay attention to him, though he did not avert his eyes, "I never knew he could move like that. Did you?"

He indicated Draco with his chin, drinking from his beer again—this time without grimacing. Hermione listened in on the conversation, though she did not comment yet.

"He does that hip thing when he's showering sometimes," Ron said—forgetting momentarily who he was talking to—letting his look trail down to Draco's ass, "but he always cuts it out when he realises I'm looking."

Harry shifted rather uncomfortably at the information, realising that they did really shower and that _nakedness_ was apparently a thing between them. He looked over at the two Slytherins again, just in time to see Blaise bend over so he could whisper something in Draco's ear, forcing his waist closer to his own momentarily. He noticed how Ron's hands twitched and made a fist, even if he didn't react in any other way.

"It must bother you," Harry offered, knowing that Ron would never bring it up unless he was jabbed.

"A little bit," Ron admitted. He felt Harry stare and turned briefly. When he saw Harry's raised eyebrows and Hermione's look of disapproval, he sighed, "Fine. A lot," he looked at Draco again, and shrugged, "but I get it. Their friendship isn't like ours. Zabini is a coy bastard, 's all."

"That's it?" Harry pressed further.

"It pissed me off before," Ron sulked, "and I thought he cheated on me with 'em when he stayed over, but I believe him when he says he doesn't love Zabini. I trust him, and I know he didn't cheat. It's not worth fighting over."

"How do you know he didn't cheat?" Harry asked with a frown—not maliciously, but simply curious.

"Well, you know..." suddenly Ron blushed, and he remembered their encounter in the spare living room. Encounters like those were easier if they had been together not too long before, and even though it had gone well—felt like _heaven_—Ron had known Draco had not been with anyone for a couple of days, "I could feel it."

"Oh, like a gut feeling," Harry nodded in understanding—even though Ron realised he _didn't_ understand.

"Not exactly," his ears burned bright, and both Harry and Hermione gave him an expectant look.

"Then how?" Hermione insisted now as well, and Ron gave a little cough.

"Well," he rubbed his neck nervously, "when we made love."

Harry blinked dumbly and Ron full-out groaned now. Hermione didn't seem too sure she understood either, even though she was usually the smart one.

"Do I need to draw you a bloody picture?" Ron snapped, "When we made love I could feel he hadn't been with anyone in a while, he was tense, okay!"

"But how does nerves—" Hermione stopped mid-sentence when Harry gave a meaningful point to his own arse, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Yeah," he focused on Draco again the blonde's hips swaying in time with the music, "I trust 'm. So it's alright."

"That's good," Harry patted the redhead's back, his eyes a bit wide, "you guys've been here before?"

"No," Ron shook his head, "we haven't been out very often. Just went to Diagon alley once. I'd like to take him places, but we've just never really gotten to it."

"So..." Harry frowned slightly, "than what do you guys do? Besides... well, you know."

Ron's face lit up with a smile—happy Harry seemed uprightly interested in his relationship—and he turned back to his friend, though he did keep an eye on the blonde, just to be sure.

"We talk a lot," Ron said goofily, "he doesn't tell me very personal things, mostly just shallow stuff, but it's kinda nice. Sometimes he'll tell me something small about his parents, but that's only rarely. But sometimes when his guard is down, he tells me stuff like that, and well, since we had that fight... I think he might try to be more open about it," Ron did sound hopeful, thinking that even if they talked all the time, they really only rarely talked about Draco's feelings, "or we just kind of hang out. It's nice whatever we do."

Harry nodded in understanding, carefully questioning further: "so erm... have you been sleeping together for long than?"

"Not very," Ron chuckled, "we'd been together a couple of weeks before we slept together for the first time."

"That's good," Hermione added to the conversation, "I think that although sex is something important in a relationship there's no shame in waiting."

Ron frowned confusedly and scratched his neck again.

"Erm, we had sex right away," he told her, "I thought you meant sharing a bed at night."

Hermione opened her mouth, outraged, but Harry just laughed. Ron blushed a little which made his friend roll his eyes as he patted his back again.

"She's a girl," Harry whispered wisely, "it's typical."

This time it was Ron's turn to laugh, and Hermione eyed them suspiciously.

"You've gone out on _one_ date," she seethed, "but sex was okay from the start."

"I don't know," Ron frowned, "it's just, the spending the night together part is far more intimate to me. I mean, the sex is really good, and I wouldn't want that with anyone else, but letting someone spend the night in your bed... it means putting yourself in a vulnerable position," he leaned back into the couch with a sigh, "I can't explain."

Hermione huffed, and Ron knew he was going to have to elaborate if he wanted to get out of this one.

"It's just, sex teaches me what kind of thing he likes and all that," he felt his cheeks heating at the thought of what the blonde liked, and willed it away, "but by spending the night in his bedroom I learn that he still keeps the memory of his father very close. Or that he's a neat-freak, and puts everything in neat little piles. I know that he usually gets up early and then reads a book, or that when he can't sleep he sits on his sofa for a while," he bit his lip in thought, "sex teaches me about what he's like when I make love to him, spending the night with him reveals more about what he is like in general."

This did please her, even if she still looked a bit upset. Ron looked at the blonde again, and he smiled sheepishly. Harry took another swallow of his bottle, and then they started talking again, even if Ron was distracted by the sight his lover made.

A couple of songs later Ron watched the two break up, Blaise heading back to the bar with a smirk and a pinch to Draco's hip, his lover joining them on the couch. He had a pink tinge to his cheeks, light enough for anyone to overlook it, but Ron noticed it right away. A deserted lock of hair was matted to his forehead, but he stroked it from his face before Ron could yield to the urge to go in and do it for him.

Draco was about to speak—the three Gryffindors looking up at him hopefully—when suddenly his friend returned. Blaise was visibly sweating, his curls wet and the buttons of his shirt undone. His face, though up in a wide grin before, was contorted into a scowl, and a hand was set on his hip angrily. He was bouncing on his heels, anxious, biting his lips to keep himself from rambling.

"Blaise—" Draco was cut off halfway when Blaise couldn't contain himself any longer.

"He's here!" it was nothing more but a squeak, and Blaise began pacing the space in front of his friend's seat, "That little piece of shit is _here_! And he brought that fucking Pacha—what'shisname—and how the fuck is he—" the outburst calmed him a little, before Draco could even try, and suddenly he turned determined, "_oh,_ I will make him _pay_! Dray, give me a rubber."

Draco's brow rose gracefully, and a stubborn set to his jaw.

"Blaise, you said you _wouldn't_!" he sneered, reminding his friend of his promise.

Blaise huffed childishly and tapped his foot.

"I know what I said!" he groaned, "That was before he was here! He thinks he's the only ass I can fuck? There's plenty of guys out there more than willing to get themselves a lil' Italian in them! Just give me a rub—"

"I don't have any," Draco scoffed, and he felt hard-pressed to stick his tongue out at his friend, "besides, I hardly think cheating on him is the best way to solve your issues!"

"It would not be cheating!" Blaise seethed, "I have no one to cheat _on_!"

"You're insufferable," the blonde snarled, slapping his best friend across the head, "_fine!_"

Before Blaise could even whine about the abuse, Draco stood and headed over to one of the dancing men surrounding the couches. They watched him lean forward, drawing the man's attention by placing a hand on his hip. The older man turned curiously, a flirtatious smirk appearing when he took in the sight of Draco. Draco gave a wink, whispering something in the other's ear before giving Blaise a point.

Ron's fists twitched unwillingly when the man laughed and touched Draco's chest playfully. He reached into his pocket and handed the blonde something, and with that Draco gave another wink and returned to his friends.

The man watched his ass as he left, before returning his attention to his own friends, and Ron had to look away in fear of simply getting up and storming over there to give him a piece of his mind. He knew Draco had motive, but right then, he did not care.

Blaise looked at his friend curiously, but Draco just handed him a foil package wordlessly. The Gryffindors' eyes widened when they realised it were condoms.

"Dude," Blaise looked at the man Draco had been talking with, and then back at the blonde, "how the hell did you get him to give you..." he did a quick count, "_ten_ rubbers?"

"I told him that if you ever got to using the tenth, he can come in and use an eleventh," Blaise stared in awe, not even really caring he had been sold off for condoms, "alright, so," Draco forced his friend to look at him, taking a hold of his chin, "these can give you five nice goes, at five different guys," Blaise nearly drooled at the idea, a dirty smirk appearing on his face—his eyes darkening with lust—but it fell quickly at Draco's stern look, "_or_," he continued sharply, "you could use them to show Leonardo why _you_'re the guy everyone in this place wants to get down with. Show him your worth."

Blaise blinked stupidly once, before his face split out into a full grin—less naughty, but straight from the heart—and he pocketed the package. He rubbed his nose together with Draco's in an affectionate manner, silently thanking his friend for managing to calm him, and not letting him run wild like an insane person.

Before he could skip off in pursuit of Leonardo, Draco copped a feel—except that he wasn't copping a feel, though it surely looked like it—and Ron fumed. He grabbed something from Blaise's back pocket, and the raven raised an amused eyebrow, purring deeply.

Draco rolled his eyes and handed Blaise his own phial of lube—strawberry flavoured, from the looks of the bottle—and Harry shifted uncomfortably at the revelation that the Slytherin carried lube wherever he went.

"Be nice to his arse," Draco added, before he pushed his friend in the direction of the bar where he had encountered his lover.

They watched him go on his merry way, before Draco glanced back at the seated Gryffindors. Hermione and Harry looked a bit baffled—_they're not used to much at all, are they?_—but what was really most fascinating was the fact that Ron's eyes were blazing, touching him deep into his core and flooding him with a pooling sort of warmth.

_Gorgeous._

Draco's head cocked to the side in contemplation—then, the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk, and he outstretched his hand to Ron. The redhead needed only a moment to consider the silent offer. He gave Harry a sideways glance to make sure he was not completely losing it, and then took Draco's hand and stood.

It was worth it when Draco's eyebrows fluttered in contentment and the almost invisible smile reached his eyes. Draco upped the stakes when he turned and brought Ron with him to the dance floor, an unmistakeable swagger in his step that made his hips curve beautifully.

They joined the others having a go at the music, so loud and insistent it controlled heartbeats. Draco made sure they were still in the line of sight of the left-behind Gryffindors, because it really would be a shame if they were forced to spend the night in search of them because they'd run off in distress.

Even with people moving hotly all around them, Ron was undisturbed, catching Draco into a makeshift embrace. He folded his arms around Draco's midriff and leaned into his back heavily, nuzzling him behind his ear.

Draco chuckled and it went unheard, but Ron felt how he leaned back into the cuddle, and knew he was amused, to some extent. The blonde turned in the broad arms—Ron moving his hands to cradle the defined hips instead—smirking up at his tall lover.

"I have a confession to make," Ron had to bend forward to reach Draco's ear, and his hot breath sent goosebumps to the pale skin, "I'm not very good at this."

The embarrassment that rose to his cheeks was masked perfectly by the wildly flashing lights turning everything green and blue and violent shades of yellow.

"_This_?" Draco teased, getting up on his toes to reach Ron's ear in return.

Ron grinned too, now, his lover's playful attitude brightening his features.

"This dance thing," Ron elaborated, indicating the moving people around them.

Draco pursed his lips seductively and he flattened his palms against Ron's front, right next to the jutting of his hips. His fingers tugged at the worn-out belt he was wearing, positioning the redhead's waist against his own.

"Don't you fret," Draco brazened, "it's easy," he began circling his hips, pulling Ron's with his own, "just follow mine."

He was very much aware of the fact that they were not at all in sync with the music—their tempo was slow and sensual, the music blaring and demanding rough and edgy movements Draco was not willing to give.

Ron didn't protest either, instead enjoying the finesse with which Draco moved, smoothly locking his waist into his lover's. His arms wound around Draco's back and he rested his hands discretely on Draco's lower back, just above the curve of his plump ass.

Their legs slid against one another's, and they began moving a bit quicker, bodies bouncing to the beat. Draco grabbed the back of Ron's waistband and forced him down with him, before their waists moved up again roughly. Ron had the most appreciative expression on his face, lips delicately parted. The redhead's hands slid down, abandoning all decency and full-out groping Draco's arse.

Draco purred huskily, his own fingers wrapping around the loopholes of Ron's jeans, and pressed up closer to his lover, their eyes locking and creating pure _fire_. One of Ron's hands abandoned Draco's arse in favour of his lower back, which was after all, _his favourite place on my body,_ rubbing circles with his thumb.

One of his own arms went around the redhead's neck, as they swayed to the music, the other holding onto a freckled hip. He turned in his lover's embrace, flattering himself against his hard body, his hand sliding down to a strong thigh. Ron growled into his ear and grabbed his hips, moving them to the beat.

They danced for what seemed like hours, under the vigilant eye of Harry and Hermione. They noted each touch and each sway, and Draco knew they were looking but couldn't bring himself to be bothered. Ron had his arms around him and it felt like... _home._

When a slower song came on, Ron turned the blonde in his arms to face him. As their eyes met Draco noticed that the redhead's eyes had darkened considerably, and the corner of his mouth twirled up in a leer. He was not oblivious, and he knew very well that the combination of no sex for a couple of days and Draco pressed up close against him made Ron a little crazy. That didn't mean he was not determined to enjoy every second of his passion-induced insanity.

Draco stood on his toes, leaning up so he could reach the redhead, and Ron did that thing where he half-closed his eyes, looking down at Draco in expectation of the kiss.

The blue swirled with silver, half-lit and Draco knew his must be about the same. He could feel his body reacting to the unspoken promise of lips pressed together, and he blinked lazily, his eyelashes fluttering. He paused when he was a breath away from his lover's mouth, waiting for Ron to rise to the bait.

Ron enjoyed Draco's expression a single second longer—the hidden smile on the red lips and the silver hazy with want—before bending his neck and pushing his lips to Draco's.

It felt as if they hadn't kissed in months. They bit and they licked and their tongues met and it was _delicious._

Draco had missed kissing the redhead more than he cared to admit, and was determined to make that up. He would make sure he had bruised his lover's lips with kisses by the time they left the club.

**AN: I know I'm strange when it comes to music. I'm not sorry for that.**

**I planned lube-theft, but that seemed beneath a Malfoy.**

**And… this chapter saved my life. Or well. It saved the life of this fic, at least, for me. (So did the music, let's not forget about that. It's quite crucial.)**


	26. No-touch

26. No-touch

**AN: This was originally: 'No-touch and Overload', but since it was a **_**very**_** long chapter, I split it up ^-^**

When Draco woke up the next morning he had a half-naked Blaise in his bed and a mild headache. Cursed sun was streaming in through the windows, and even though sleep was not nearly as good and gratifying without Ron next to him, Draco had missed his own room.

It didn't have anything to do with the fact that stupid Pothead wasn't in his room, either.

He had missed his father watching over him and the Sirius-star shining brightly on the ceiling. He had missed the fact that this bed had become _home_, and that all his stuff was there and organised.

Blaise was awake already, and he was busy with his mobile phone, his dark chest revealed. When he noticed that Draco had stirred, he flashed the blonde a grin without looking up.

"Bitch's ass is sore," he chuckled, "that'll teach 'em. Say, any reason in particular why Potter is refusing to leave you and sparky alone for even a second?"

"What do you mean?" Draco turned onto his side—another thing he had missed was the bed in itself, so much more comfortable than the one Ron inhabited.

"Come on Dray, you can't tell me you haven't noticed," Blaise did look up now, frowning, "I mean, for example, last night when you guys said goodbye for the night, I had the decency to pretend to use the loo, but he was just kind of standing there, watching you guys like some sort of voyeuristic freak. Dude, even I thought it was a little over top."

Draco sighed and burrowed his face in the pillow. He had noticed, of course, it was impossible not to. He just didn't feel like it was his place to comment on the matter—at Hogwarts, the two friends were always together, and Draco figured it was like that during the holidays as well. He couldn't just demand that Ron send his friend off, definitely not since they had been starting to get along again.

Worst of all was the fact that Ron didn't even seem to mind. He was sexually frustrated, yes, but besides that, the part where he had no alone-time with Draco whatsoever didn't seem to bother him at all.

The blonde merely turned onto his other side, away from his friend, and just like that, Blaise understood the matter was not to be brought up again.

However, it was brought up again by Ron, two days later. Draco did his best to ignore the unsettling feeling in his stomach, and did whatever he would do if Harry, Ron and Hermione had not been present in the room. He read and occasionally drew and whenever it became overbearing to be around _so many people,_ he would excuse himself and feign a bathroom break, making a quick escape to his bedroom where he could lie on his bed and listen to music.

And then Ron would find him, but when Ron found him, so did Harry, and the whole process just began all over again.

The evenings were perhaps even worse. They would stay up until they became too tired and then crawled into bed. And Ron would kiss him and touch him and Draco would have to say no, because Harry was right there and they couldn't risk him waking up in the middle of it and seeing them, really, _I'll wear garters for him and no matter how many times he asks, getting on my knees will never be a problem, but this is too much, even for me._

Even if that was so, Ron still only acted frustrated about the matter when it restricted with their sex-life. That was what perhaps hurt the most. _It's really only sex for him._

They were in the living room when Draco urgently needed to pee. He put his book down and made a quick run for it, and he had just unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down over his thighs when the bathroom door opened.

He turned around to sneer at whoever had come in, when he saw that it was Ron, _he better not be hoping for a quickie, _and he scowled.

"Ronald, I really need to—"

"I know," Ron nodded, sitting himself on the edge of the tub. His eyes were fixed on the floor, ashamed to look up, "I just wanted to be with you for a little while."

"In the bathroom?" Draco's tone had a hint of amusement to it, and all-in-all he _was_ glad Ron hadn't just come over to lure him into lovemaking.

"Anywhere will do," Ron replied aggravated, "they just won't leave us by ourselves for two damn seconds, and talking to you isn't the same with them around. There's just some things I can't say when they're with us."

Draco immediately knew who he was talking about, and inwardly, he cheered at finding out that apparently, Ron had been bothered as much as Draco. Better even, _bothered for the same reason, and not just because of his raging hormones._

"It's okay Ronald, I understand," Draco tried to shrug it off—he just wanted to do something nice to Ron for a change, and decided he should just be considerate, thinking perhaps the redhead was only complaining because he thought it annoyed Draco, "you guys are friends. It's normal that you like spending time with him."

"Spending time with _both_ of you is nice," Ron said with a frown, looking at Draco in disbelief, "spending time with you is nicer. Don't tell me you haven't notice? It's practically come to the point of stalking!"

His voice rose to a squeak and Draco couldn't help but smile.

"It _is_ pretty annoying," he admitted.

"So can we just talk for a little while?" Ron gave him a pleading look, lip stuck out in a pout.

Draco rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Ron, I _really_ need to pee," Draco said rather bitterly.

Ron looked like a hit puppy, and he looked at the ground defiantly.

"I'll just tell him," he decided resolutely, "I'll tell him this weekend. I'll make him see reason!"

He was determined, and an image of Ron as a knight in shinning armour popped up in Draco's head. He quickly expelled it when the knight-Ron fell off his horse and pouted, knowing that pout did no good for his teenage hormones.

He was just about to remind Ron that he _really_ had to pee, when the redhead spoke again, soft and nervous this time.

"Could we... go out once?" he asked shakily, his voice vulnerable.

Draco arched an eyebrow—he felt a bit stupid being asked such a thing when he was there with his jeans undone—a little confused.

"Like when we all went dancing?" he tried verifying, but Ron just lifted his shoulders as if he himself didn't know.

"I mean... just the two of us?" suddenly he blushed and his cheeks got a dark colour of red, eyes still stubbornly fixed on the floor.

Realisation downed on Draco and he began smirking widely, his teeth glittering in the light.

"You want to go out on a _date_?" he couldn't repress a chuckle and Ron's head snapped up, blue eyes glaring daggers at the laughing blonde.

"If you don't want to go you could just say so!" Ron spat, getting up tetchily, grunting: "Don't have to bloody mock me," as he headed for the door.

Draco moved quickly to stop him, wrapping both arms around the broad shoulders and leaning into Ron's back. Ron's eyes widened in surprise and Draco rested his forehead against a shoulder, silently offering his apologies.

"I would very much like to go out on a date with you Ronald," he murmured into the redhead's tank top.

"A-are you sure?" Ron stuttered, fists clenching.

"Yes," Draco replied quietly, flattering his blonde head more comfortably against Ron's back.

He knew it was a bit foolish of him to be frightened that Ron only missed their physical contact, when now that he finally had the redhead in his arms again, _I really don't want to let go_. He missed talking to Ron and spending time with him, but... _touching him_, he missed just as much.

Ron turned around, posing his fingers on Draco's chin and lifting it. He tried to read the blonde's eyes, but they were as unfeeling as they usually were, so he just pressed a kiss to the rosy lips, _tastes so good_, and smiled.

"I'll let you pee now," Ron shrugged.

Draco ushered him out the door and locked it this time, before leaning back against it with a sigh. He just couldn't wait for the weekend to be over so he could spend some time in private with Ron.

Three days later nothing had changed. Draco tried not to let it bother him, after all, they still shared a bed, and even though his own bed was more comfortable, he shared Ron's with _Ron_ and that was nice too.

What was worse was that it became painfully obvious that Harry was doing it purposely. When Ron had gotten enough and decided that he needed a shower, after which he gave Draco a pointed stare: "_you too_," Draco realised what he was up to and had nodded gravely.

They were just about to get naked when Harry stormed in in dire need of Ron, and well, that was it. Even though Draco had pretended that there was even a slim chance Harry just didn't _realise_ how damn annoying he way, he had no doubts left.

The raven was doing it on purpose.

Hermione was perhaps even worse. Every time the two of them even just _touched_ she would call Ron to order immediately. Draco understood that perhaps it was a bit weird for them—he always got a little uncomfortable when Sirius and Remus touched—but it was their own fault, really. If those two would just give them some _privacy_, there would be no need for those awkward touches!

When Saturday morning came, Draco had never been so relieved in his life. He understood Ron would be gone for two days, and he would have to spend the night by himself, but at least Potter and Granger would be gone as well, and right now, that was all he really wanted.

He was about to go into the living room to say goodbye to the Weasleys—perhaps managing to steal a moment with Ron—when the redhead came out of said room, eyes widening when he saw Draco, and then continued to pull him into the hall closet.

"Ron, I was just—" he stopped when he realised where Ron was pulling him to, and frowned, "What—"

"I'll tell them this weekend," Ron sounded determined, closing the door behind him. Draco could feel mops if he moved his hand, and though he'd felt it before, it wasn't altogether pleasant, "I have to tell them. They're driving me _nuts_!"

"I know Ronald," Draco reached for the redhead, following the sound of his angry voice, and managed to grasp a handful of t-shirt, "I'm sure they'll understand."

He gave a small yelp when he unintentionally pulled Ron a little too hard into his own body, but stopped dead-still when Ron's breath warmed his cheeks, the redhead's thigh meshed between his own.

"I have to go," Ron groaned, tremors shooting up Draco's spine as he was reminded of _ohMerlinyesDraco,_ "I'm supposed to be getting a sweater."

"Yeah," Draco huffed softly, shivering when he felt Ron's hands work under his shirt.

"Can I take yours?" Ron nipped at Draco's cheek—Draco figured he'd aimed for his neck or ear—his hands working in circles up his chest.

It took a moment for Draco to realise what the redhead had asked him. When it hit him, _oh-so-sentimental,_ he grinned and leaned forward to kiss the redhead's lips. Ron moaned in surprise, but kissed back vigorously, hands grasping at the pale sides.

Draco managed to control himself before he pulled Ron into himself completely—using his arse for leverage, preferably—pulling back slowly. He felt Ron's lips hover over his own, his mouth wet with the redhead's saliva.

"Is a shirt good too?" he murmured, undoing his buttons one by one.

He felt Ron nod deftly into his shoulder as the boy's hands joined to help his in the task of getting rid of his shirt. As soon as no buttons were left done, Ron slid it down the frail shoulder, smoothing his rough hands against the tender skin.

"Ron!" they heard Harry's voice coming from outside the broom-closet, and Ron groaned, this time in protest, "Your mum says we have to go!"

"Go," Draco kissed him quickly, aiming for his mouth full-on but getting the corner instead, "I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"I know," Ron sighed, stuffing the shirt into his back pocket, "I _know_."

They left the wardrobe, Ron's hand still on Draco's bare hip. Harry looked up when they entered the hallway, frowning.

"Where is your shirt?" Harry questioned, pointing at the blonde's revealed abs.

Draco shrugged—he knew it was a little childish, but couldn't help but feel a need to show the raven who Ron belonged to—running a hand up the redhead's side. He didn't miss the shudder that racked the strong frame, either.

"I was hot," he said casually, and Ron snorted.

Before he left, Ron drew Draco into another kiss—sweet and passionate and _caring_—cupping his lower back so he could move the smaller body into his own. Harry coughed uncomfortably, but for once, Ron ignored his friend, pulling Draco in closer.

They separated too quickly to Draco's taste, but he understood that Ron really had to get going. He gave a little encouraging smile as the two friends headed into the living room, Ron looking back over his shoulder constantly until the door shut.

He spent the rest of the day with Sirius and Remus in the kitchen. It was kind of cute to see them interact—Remus was busy making cake, Sirius constantly trying to get his attention—now, even more sweet than before.

Honestly, _they were giddy before, but now that they're having a baby, it's gotten even worse!_

It was obvious to Draco that Sirius wanted to tell him something, but it appeared that he was adamant on waiting for the opportune moment. It was funny to see him struggle with hiding his excitement though, and the man burst out in giggles at random moments, his face constantly painted with a broad grin.

Draco helped Remus make the dough—Sirius expelled from coming anywhere near them while they worked, as he was famous for trying to steal tastes of it—and it was really a rather relaxing thing to be doing. They talked about anything that came to mind, though nothing too serious, while mixing the ingredients.

When they had gotten the cake into the oven, Remus and Draco joined Sirius at the table, waiting for it to bake. The raven pulled Remus into his lap and even while they were just talking, Sirius kept his hands on Remus' stomach, constantly nuzzling his neck.

Draco was getting a little impatient—he had known Sirius wanted to tell him something for almost a week, and he had thought he would jump at it as soon as they were alone—Sirius still acting as if he was dying to say something.

The moment came when Draco least expected it. He was drinking his tea, reading a magazine while they waited for the cake, when he heard Sirius whisper: "can we please tell him now Moony?"

Remus gave a nod and Sirius hopped on his chair excitingly—as well as he could, with Remus in his lap—giving the blonde a grin. Draco looked up curiously, but let no further emotion be shown on his face.

"We've been wanting to ask you Draco..." he began and then paused to take a deep breath—his excitement stringing the words together rapidly—though he sounded a little nervous and concerned as well, "ifperhapsmaybeyou'dwanttobegodfathertoourbaby?"

Even if it was just all a blur, Draco still understood what Sirius had just asked him.

His eyes widened, and his mouth felt dry for some reason. _Did he just... no... it can't have been... surely he wouldn't want me to be..._

"Of course!" the words came from his mouth before he could stop them, and even though he felt like the biggest idiot alive, he smiled broadly, feeling happier than he had in a long time, "I would be honoured to!"

Sirius and Remus came over to hug him immediately, completely ignoring the fact that he usually didn't like to be held. Draco decided he could overlook it, just this one time, considering what honour they had just given him. He'd never been anyone's godfather, but he knew that the fact that they were asking him to be, meant a great deal to them. It felt as if some way, they were trying to get him to realise he was part of their family now, and even if he still missed _dad, mom,_ it felt nice to be part of something again.

They spent the rest of the day decorating the cake. Draco knew it was probably far too girly for him to be enjoying it, but he couldn't help it. He liked doing artistic things, and though styling the frosting wasn't exactly the peak of creativity, it was very pleasing. Remus left Sirius and Draco in charge of the decoration and they used sprinkles and whipped cream to give it a little bit extra. Sirius insisted on adding chocolate as a surprise while Remus went to the restroom, and they put it in the fridge before the man returned.

While they left the cake to rest, they went up to one of the smaller living rooms on the second floor. There was a television there, even though Draco had never even known they owed one. It turned out Remus had brought it with him when he had moved in, since the brunette was unwilling to give up his movie collection. They sat on the couch—one only Sirius and Remus ever used, since they were the only ones that ever came into the room—drinking soda and watching old movies on the device. Remus lay on his side with Sirius' hand posed on his belly, the raven stroking over it absentmindedly. It was a little more prominent than it had been before, but Draco could understand perfectly well that to the untrained eye, Remus looked just as slim as he did before. Draco sat next them, trying not to look too obviously at them from the corner of his eye, Sirius' arm comfortably wrapped around his shoulder.

The older man had asked him if it was okay if he held him like that, and Draco hadn't had the heart to protest. Before he began this _thing_ he and Ron had, he had never really missed proximity. His father held him sometimes, when he had had a hard day at work or in case they hadn't seen each other in a while. When Draco returned from school and his father had a day off, he would sit with Lucius like he sat with Sirius now, in the orchard on the wooden swing.

Now that he had to miss Ron's touches and embraces, he realised what he had been missing, all along. Or you know, maybe five days without Ron holding him properly made him a stupid sentimental bitch.

The day went by in a blur—spending time with just Sirius and Remus was so nice, he could spend months with them and not even notice a single minute had passed—and before he got a full grasp on things, he woke up with his head on Sirius' stomach and the man's hand wrapped around Remus' hip, the brunette's face resting on Sirius' chest. Their proposal had been the centre of Draco's dreams that night, and for the first time since his parents died he allowed himself to fully look forward to something.

He loved Ronald, but this feeling was something different. It wasn't the same thing he felt around the redhead, but leaned closer to what he felt when he was with his father. Either way, it felt incredibly good, and he just counted himself lucky they wanted him to be their child's godfather. He knew it would probably be hard for them to tell Harry, and he knew Harry wouldn't like the idea of his godfather's child growing up to be so close to him, but frankly, he couldn't care.

He was officially done caring about what Potter would think. He had needed to worry about that ever since he and Ronald first kissed, and he was done with it. He was done with sparing the boy's feelings and not kissing Ron when he was near. He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake. If Harry couldn't handle his best friend snogging a Malfoy, he could just look away.

They talked all through their brunch—apparently they had stayed up quite late, but Draco had stopped checking the time when the clock struck twelve—Sirius unable to keep his mouth shut for a second. He rambled about how _amazing_ it would be, and how _happy_ he was, and how absolutely _delighted_ he felt that Draco wanted to be their baby's godfather.

And even though Draco didn't say it aloud, he knew that Sirius and Remus knew he was probably even happier than they were with that decision.

They went back upstairs to continue watching one of the movies from where they had left off that night, and then spent most of the afternoon out in the garden. Sirius and Draco rode their brooms while Remus watched—pretending to be reading but failing—playing broom-tag and chasing each other around the trees. It was great to be outside again, it was hot but not stifling, and there was a nice breeze. For once, the weather was absolutely perfect, and even though Draco wished his father could be there to enjoy it with him, he knew that wouldn't be happening, so he tried to focus instead on making it _real_ with Sirius.

When they grew tired of poking fun at each other, they joined Remus back on the ground. They didn't talk much then, Sirius settled between Remus' leg in his dog-form—it always surprised Draco that he actually turned into a dog when it _wasn't_ necessary, but Remus had explained that since Azkaban Padfoot had become an even bigger part of Sirius' identity, so he couldn't stop himself from turning at random moments, or when he wanted to feel safe—and Draco went to get his drawing material from his room.

He felt confident in admitting that Remus and Sirius made him feel comfortable enough to draw in their presence. When he had drawn Ron he had felt a bit ill-at-ease, knowing the boy could wake up and find him in one of his more vulnerable positions, and he didn't want that. It felt like a secret he should have kept from Ron, but it was too late for that now.

With Remus and Sirius, he was willing to share.

So he sat in the tall grass on the make-shift seat Remus had installed consisting out of pillows and blankets—Draco had tried to get the men to sit on the swing, but they refused to, insisting on sitting with Draco instead—positioning his paper into an easy position and plucking one of his pencils from his bag.

He drew whatever he saw—birds and trees and the sun—and then when he felt it safe enough, he began drawing Sirius and Remus. He had always preferred drawing people, and this was good practice for him. He also wasn't used to drawing animals, so Padfoot certainly came as a challenge for him.

First he started out with Remus—the man had fallen asleep, Sirius' paws on his stomach protectively—easily bent towards Draco. But after a couple of small sketches, the urge to try something new became too big and he started drawing Sirius instead. His paws and his ears at first, because he twitched them cutely in his sleep, and Draco became hooked on trying to give them motion in his drawings.

Then he moved to the wet nose—that one was easier than expected—trying on making it look the sufficient amount of cute without turning too surrealistic.

When he became impatient with working in slow steps, he tried drawing all of Padfoot, and it went rather well, though the general _furriness_ was a bit off. So he redid it.

And then he did it again.

And again.

Draco was a zealous believer in the saying 'practice makes perfect' and he refused to believe otherwise. His father had taught him that if you try hard enough, and you try long enough, and you _want it_, bad enough, you can do anything.

He succeeded in something resembling okay after seven sketches, and then decided to try drawing the entire picture. Even though he had thought this would be much harder, it actually was easier, since any imperfections Padfoot had were easily erased and he could anticipate the place he took on Remus' body much easier with the man already drawn on his paper.

They woke just as he had finished, and when Remus smiled and asked him what he had been up to he just showed his drawings of the trees. _Perhaps this is still a secret I would like to keep_.

Remus started making dinner so it would be ready by the time the Weasleys arrived, while Draco and Sirius moved the tables outside and set them for the evening. It had become a bit of a habit, whenever the weather allowed it they sat outside.

Draco and Sirius had just returned from setting the tables when the door opened and slammed shut. For a brief, _oh-so-silly-short,_ moment, Draco hoped the Weasleys had let Ron return to Grimmauld place sooner, but then Tonks appeared in the doorway and his hopes were ruined.

Sirius and Remus were great company, but the idea of being close with Ron after almost a week of slim to no contact stayed present in the back of his mind, _always_.

Tonks gave a curt nod to Sirius and Draco—not even greeting her own relatives—and turned to Remus with a strange expression.

"I want to talk to you," she said sternly, "_now_ preferably."

"Alright," Remus nodded and got off his seat—receiving a worried look from Sirius—and followed her out of the kitchen.

Before he left he sent the raven a reassuring smile, and even though Sirius still looked a bit confused, he did smile back. Draco gave the older man a questioning look, but Sirius didn't know what Tonks wanted either, and just gave him a shrug.

They waited for Remus to return in silence, and the air changed completely. Instead of ridiculously happy, Sirius was suddenly nervous.

They heard Tonks raise her voice all of a sudden, and the fierce pit-patter of her shoes came closer. Her exact words were incomprehensible, but she was definitely angry, voice full of rage. For a minute there was silence, and then they heard Remus reply softly, and she raged again. It all ended with a brutal door-slam, Remus appearing once more in the kitchen.

"Remus? What was that all about?" Sirius asked, a frown present on his features.

"She wanted to talk about... our hoax," Remus was baffled, blinking dumbly, "she thought it was a hoax..." he sat down, eyes far-off as he muttered: "_a hoax._"

"Remus? What do you mean?" Sirius didn't understand, but Draco though he might have a hunch of what their conversation had been about.

"Well, apparently you were right all along," Remus gave a grunt, "she does like me in _that_ way, and thought we were playing when we acted so... affectionately. She called it a _hoax_."

For some reason Remus couldn't stop repeating the word, and he groaned before thumping his head into the kitchen counter. The move worried both Sirius and Draco, and they moved to stop him before he could do it again.

"Remus? You're a bit pale love," Sirius gently pried Remus off the table, gesturing for him to stand, "you should rest some more."

He supported the man, helping him get up. Remus followed obediently, his face decisively more pale.

"Could you just watch the fire? I'll be right back," Sirius promised, but Draco nodded his head.

"It's fine, take all the time you need," Draco promised, picking up his book to show the man that he would be fine on his own.

Sirius smiled broadly, giving a wink before he left the kitchen, taking Remus with him. Draco made himself more comfortable on his stool, opening his book in his marked page. He had just started reading where he had left off earlier, when he heard the front door open. For a minute he worried it might be one of the members, but then Molly entered with Arthur and Fred and George on her heels, and he realised it were the Weasleys. His heart skipped a beat and he scowled at his own foolishness, _he hasn't even been gone two whole days._

Molly was carrying two grocery bags and set them on the counter, smiling as she inhaled deeply.

"Oh, it smells delicious is here," the others nodded approvingly, the smell of fresh cake heady in the air from the previous day, intermingling with the current thick scent of red wine.

"We made cake," Draco said simply, pointing towards the fridge vaguely, "Remus taught us how."

Molly kissed his cheek as a manner of greeting, giving an approving nod. She found Remus a much better role-model than Sirius, that much was clear, but she was trying her hardest not to be too obvious about it.

"Where are Sirius and Remus now?" she asked, eyeing the pots and pans on the fire.

Draco knew she was debating whether or not she should go over and mess with them, but Draco knew dinner had almost been done, and Remus had turned down the fire to a lower temperature before he left, assuring that everything would stay warm but that it wouldn't be overdone.

"Remus wasn't feeling well, so Sirius took him upstairs," the other Weasleys entered the kitchen as well—all except for... _Ron_—with Harry and Hermione coming in as last, "don't worry about the fire misses Weasley, Remus took care of it."

She wasn't convinced, but sat down anyway.

"We crossed Tonks on our way here," she began a bit nervously, not sure whether to bring up the subject now, "they had a fight I heard?"

"You could hardly call it a fight," Draco glared, "she came, she yelled, she left again."

"Now Draco," Arthur gave his wife a look from the corner of his eye, and Draco realised he was trying to stop her from continuing: "that's not what she said. I'm sure she wouldn't lie about something like this."

"I don't need to be sure of anything but the fact that I was right here when it happened," Draco snapped, _how dare she! He is the kindest person I know and still she tries to bring him down like that,_ "he didn't even raise his voice! What _is_ Tonks' problem anyway," he stood, trying to silence himself—there really was no need to get so angry with Molly, since she was only repeating what she had heard—he failed, glaring at the plump woman before him, "she cries when he faints and she squeals when he's in the room and she is so _in love_, and she cares _so much_, but even though he is obviously very sick, it is still okay for her to just barge in and bring him down like that? She _loves him so,_ but because she cannot be the one bringing happiness she's intent on destroying anyone that tries," he took his book off the table with a role of his eyes, "that's not love. She's insane."

Molly embraced him quite suddenly, throwing Draco off guard. He had expected her to be insulted, at the least, but instead she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her chest.

"You have to stop speaking so truthfully," she whispered into his hair, the others frowning when they couldn't understand, "the truth hurts love."

"I'll stop speaking the truth," Draco told her, gently prying himself from her hug with a smile, "when people start earning the lie."

Her smile turned sort of sad, and before he managed to leave the room she muttered: "Ronald's upstairs looking for you," making sure no one heard her talk.

He gave a curd nod, and made his way into the hall, mounting the first set of stairs. When he went up the second, he collided into a solid, warm body, the sudden impact almost sending him flying back down. Strong hands grabbed his forearms, and just like that he was saved from the fall, balancing off a step with a single foot still in place.

He cursed himself for losing his footing that easily, and nearly lost it all over again when he recognised the voice that called for him.

"Drake? Merlin, I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going at all," when the blonde raised his head, he was met with the sight of Ron's ginger bangs, his blue eyes wide in surprise.

_He's back. He's here and he's back._

He felt an inane urge to do something incredibly ridiculous, like flinging himself around Ron's neck or snogging him until he was out of breath. Instead he tucked a blonde lock behind his ear, and did his best to smile alluringly, the corner of his mouth up in a tempting smirk.

Ron's eyes widened and his grip on Draco's arms tightened—his cheeks gaining a blush—when he realised it really was _Draco_ he'd bumped into.

Within seconds Draco was being pressed up against the railing, Ron lifting him off the step and shifting his weight into Draco to keep him in place. Ron's knee shifted in between Draco's legs for easier balance, his hands still on Draco's arms. His eyes were searching Draco's, and the boy's look brought a heat surging up his body, starting all the way at his toes.

The redhead brought his head down to nuzzle Draco's nose, rubbing against it in circles. The small touch made Draco's skin warm, his pale hands travelling down Ron's back. When Draco was just about to reach up for Ron's lips, he brought his mouth down over Draco's, licking against his lips gently. The blonde opened his mouth compliantly, willingly accepting Ron's tongue against his own, pushing his hands up to Ron's front.

They parted with a small huff, Ron's hands releasing their tight grip in favour of roaming Draco's chest. Draco was set back down and he balanced with his feet on two different steps, ignoring the small strain in his leg and squeezing the redhead's arse lewdly. With one hand, he pushed up the boy's shirt to feel his stomach. Ron unbuttoned Draco's shirt unhurriedly licking his lips when he felt the warm flesh slide deliciously under his fingertips.

A strong shudder racked their frames when they cautiously pushed their stomachs together, both of them looking down in fascination at the connection as they shuddered against each other. Ron's back was curled, his waist meshed with Draco's, and he purred when the blonde groped him tighter, keeping him in place.

Draco had missed the feel of Ron's stomach more than he cared to admit. He didn't know what it was exactly, that made him love the redhead's belly so much. It was almost completely flat—though his was flatter—only popping out a small bit. It wasn't muscled as some others he had seen—_not like Blaise and his six-pack_—and it was almost a little tanned, even though he had freckles and was a redhead. There were small pencil striped hairs, and when he wore hand-me-downs from Bill or Charlie, too big jeans that hung low on his hips, it would run down and expose his slight protruding hip bones. Perhaps what he loved the most, was the feel.

Ron's stomach felt absolutely _delightful_.

Ron fisted his shirt apart, Draco pushing the redhead's up a little higher to have more access of skin. With their stomachs connected, the shirt stayed up willingly, and Draco used the hand not busy groping Ronald's arse to cup his chin instead. They kissed again, almost torturously slow, even though Ron's hands were insistent, his fingers deftly undoing the button on his expensive jeans.

Draco was _so_ close to returning the favour—if he could only let go of that exquisite ass for a single _second_ it would be fine—when there was a cough.

Their kiss broke and Ron groaned loudly in disapproval, pushing his face into the crook of Draco's neck, unwilling to face their apparent crowd. Draco turned to face the four people at the bottom of the stairs, looking at them with wide eyes.

Bill was smirking, but Ginny, Harry and Hermione just looked shocked.

"Oh for fuck's sake," Draco scowled, waving his hand at them in a shooing motion, "couldn't you just ignore us and walk on!"

Ron muttered a weak: "so close... so close to fucking your brains out," against Draco's neck and Draco rolled his eyes, Bill snorting at how pathetic his brother sounded.

"It's your fault in the first place, I hope you die a horrible death Weasley!" Draco glared and shoved the taller boy off, aggravated and generally _pissed off_ at being denied his proximity once more.

_Since when has fucking become such a hassle? It was never this damn hard before! Honestly, sneaking around was easier than this!_

"Me? What did I do?" Ron asked with a frown.

"You _could_ try moving faster!" Draco sneered, turning his back on the Weasley—he knew he had no reason to be so angry, but he couldn't help it, for once, he could not keep his emotions in check—zipping up his fly on the way, "Stupid Weasley being so fucking slow," he muttered angrily, "foreplay is _redundant_ after a week of abstinence, rudy—" he was muttering all the way upstairs, and the five others watched him go in surprise.

**AN: I have no excuse for this being so late. Except that... life kind of got in the way of uploading, but fortunately not of writing.**

**But I'll try to upload in more decent timings. Even if I say this every goddamnned time. I haven't given up on this, so there... one day this'll be complete, and then hoeraaaaah !  
**


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